Sly Raccoon: A Novel Adaptation
by CreativeRaccoon
Summary: The stakes are raised as multiple parties become involved in the Cooper Gang's venture. Will Sly and the gang overcome Sir Raleigh, while able to make peace with Carmelita and Interpol long enough to defeat the criminal? In the end, maybe these two are working for a more common goal than they thought - can the love last? And what is Stringer's devious machination...
1. Prologue - The Eye of Anubis

**Prologue: The Eye of Anubis.  
**

**Disclaimer: No characters, events, names or places are my property, as creations of third party individuals.  
Author's Note: This comes before any chapters I have previously posted, but is not needed to understand the rest of the story.  
Important: Please note that all current chapters will shortly be undergoing a redo to edit and follow up some story arcs. This will not make any major interference to the plot thus far. I hope you like it!**

**Ancient Egypt:**  
**Fifth Dynasty: 2417.B.C.  
**  
The emerald glowed like a sea with a thousand facets in the flickering light of the torch flame. Filled with tension, issuing nervous gasps - giving short and rasping breaths, the shadowy figure tugged once, twice and then three times on the straw rope to which it was tethered. Above the shadow, a square of brilliantly silver moonlight shone in a ghostly manner through a square opening in the roof. Through this opening the rope began to descend, clearly begun strung out be another unseen figure. The first figure gave another slighter, silent gasp as a fine trickle of sandstone rubbed from the roof's edge trickled down and pattered softly onto the stone floor, several metres below. A slight jolt in the tension of the rope caused the figure to whimper slightly as the palm pith and reed torch bobbed and the flame briefly wavered. Steadying the shaking light with a free hand, the figure gave a brief hand signal to continue as the rope became taught once more.

The figure gulped again, feeling ever so much nervous, in fear that the fearsome leopards standing at the base of the statue might look up and spot him. For beside the figure rose an enormous statue that towered almost fifty metres into the air. It stood within an even more enormous sandstone and granite rotunda, with an enormous domed shape and another, yet smaller, domed roof. The figure was descending through a hole made by removing one of the hundreds of tiles that completed the intricate structure. The construction which rose at the centre of the awesome chamber was a gigantic life depiction of the jackal god Anubis. The statue itself composed the very centre of a truly gigantic palace. The inner sides of the grand dome were lined and carved with magnificent hieroglyphic patterns and symbols, forming an intricate language that told of hundreds of years. Many statutes, though far smaller, also adorned the great palace, which in turn capped monumental limestone pillars. Each edifice and pillar in turn was painstakingly painted with many lustrous colours. But it was not for these treasures that the figure had come.

Getting quiet close now, but a few feet away, the figure could now allow its torch to fully illuminate the awesome prize: embedded into the ivory and gold edifice of the face of Anubis lay two great emeralds. Each gem was as large as a chicken's egg. They were said to be the greatest treasures ever found in Egypt. Now they lay here in the very heart of the kingdom, since being rested from the depths of an ancient tomb long buried in the Valley of the Kings. Virtually none of the symbols depicted in the ancient temple had been legible; all that was but a single pictorial passage. The passage told of an ancient race of wise, clever, honest and true families, who had over the centuries gathered their knowledge to be accumulated into a legacy passed on through a single blood line. Over the millennia they had succeeded in strengthening their reputations as the world's greatest line of thieves. This was just about all that the passage could reveal bar one line.

This line also stated that even as thieves, they were not villains, but stole from the tyrannous and evil, never tormented the misfortunate and poor and always had a strict code of honour adhering to this rule. This had never been broken. An interesting image the passage had consistently produced was that of several, in fact many, raccoon like figures; as if it were apparent that this was the constant image of the family. Finally, a single name, somewhat rubbed out by sand and grit, had been inscribed in the stone that sealed the temple. This one name was Cooper.

The figure had known all this, in fact studied that passage personally for many days on end until it had memorised the entire contents of it. The figure had known all about this even before now, had already begun to understand the true legend it was part of. But until now it had not really understand the significance that which it personally carried. This seemingly forgotten passage had reignited a long lost link, a lost grip on a story told but past. Now that story was to be reignited and continued. The figure knew that to be true. The very vehicle through which it would prove itself and finally reignite its place in the family lay but a few feet from its grasp. These very objects were the emeralds that lay before the figure embedded in the face of the statue. Wrongfully stolen by a tyrannous leader and used for selfish purposes, the figure now intended to retrieve the objects which had wrongfully been taken from its own family.

They would be restored to their rightful place, where they belonged. Not at the heart and mind of a true nemeses, an enemy to his kin. For this was not but an ordinary sneak thief born and bred on the streets of Egypt, but a master thief of absolute cunning and skill. The light from the flickering torch it held revealed it to be a raccoon, adorned in robes and headwear like that of the hieroglyphs in the tomb. A pair of miniature, hooked canes hung at the belt of the raccoon, as also depicted in many of the temple images. This was no ordinary person at all, but a revived member of the Cooper family of legend, finally to begin the legend of the Thievious Raccoonus, the ancient legacy of thieving raccoons. His name was Slytunkhamen.|

Slytunkhamen gave a low whistle, so low pitched that it was inaudible to the silently growling leopard guards standing metres below at the statue's gold adorned base. The darkened shadow of his companion on the roof gave a second set of whistles; this time high pitched in reply and slowed the descent of the rope, until it all but stopped. With a brief wave of the hand to give the okay signal, Slytunkhamen turned his body about in mid air to examine the glaring eye of the statue, whose head now rose right beside him. Gingerly he reached out and grasped the edge of the sculpture, pulling himself closer towards it. Groping slightly to remain firmly planted next to it, he watched with butterflies in his stomach as another fine trail of particles rained down to the floor of the palace.

In the half-light of the flaming torches held in brackets about the chamber walls, a single leopard who chanced to look up failed to notice the slight and shadowy figure hovering by the statue. He turned back to his vigil of the rotunda floor and Slytunkhamen gave a sigh of relief and gulped slightly as he returned his attention to the gorgeous gem before his eyes. The moon now slid directly over the opening in the dome and lit up its many facets, giving it a radiant green glow. He saw his own face within it for the first time and he felt his heart swell with pride at his family's legend. Hundreds of years from now, he hoped his direct descendent could feel just such a way as he did. A feeling as though they were looking directly into the eye of Anubis, the eye of destiny.

Below him, none of the guards had noticed a single thing. They were all to transfixed at keeping their eyes glued to their immediate surrounds, in knowing fear of the punishment that should await them if the emeralds were to be found missing. Unfortunately, such consequences could not be helped. In any case, Slytunkhamen intended to bring down the ruthless ruler and all that he stood for - as a Cooper he was compassionate above saving lives, sometimes no matter how insignificant or blighted. For now, however, his single goal was to rest the emeralds from Anubis. Reaching out and giving the rope that held him an affirming tug, he begun to rock back and forth, using his feet as leverage to bounce his feet off the surface of the statue. Gradually he felt himself build momentum that continued to build slightly until he had achieved a gently swinging arc. As he rocked back and forth, the emeralds glimmered and blinked at him, tantalising him as he came closer and further from them. At last the swing of the rope bought him in a clean sweep to the face of the statue and he managed to seize the complicated edifice adorning the eye.

With his nimble fingers firmly grasping the polished ivory vignette, Slytunkhamen slid one of the miniature canes from his leather belt and jammed it into the narrow grove beside the first emerald. Gritting his teeth, he jerked the handle sharply to the left and the gem popped from the groove like a cork, leaving a polished patch of gold behind it. As it slid from the groove, it slipped between his fingers and he just managed to seize the gem with his sweaty palms, shoving it into a camel skin shoulder pouch, before it dropped to the floor.

With one gem in his possession now, the wily raccoon gave yet another low pitched whistle and his companion on the roof began to tug at the rope. He felt himself swaying gently to the left, rotating around the head of Anubis as his companion revolved the position of the rope. He found himself being treated to a three-sixty degree vista of the awe inspiring construction, in all its majesty. First from the front-on view, then from the side of the head, then at the backside of the elaborate head adornment and finally he arrived at the reverse side of the face, this time with the nose pointing right. He could see the second emerald, seemingly even more admirable than the first, imbedded in the face. He now also saw the majestic inner-reverse-side of the tremendous dome.

Many hundreds more hieroglyphs and symbols adorned the textured surface. Flexing his fingers in eager anticipation, Slytunkhamen raised his miniature cane, still clasped in his left hand, and bought it swinging up to face the eye. The sudden movement caused the already frayed rope to groan a little as it strained in earnest to accommodate for a second swinging arc. Again he managed to firmly clasp the vignette about the eye. He plunged the cane into the gap in the groove and gave it a good tug. To his horror he saw the beautiful gem fly right out of its place, float in mid air for a split second, and then drop like a boulder towards the sandstone floor.  
With a silent cry of desperation lingering in his throat, Sly-Tutankhamen gave the rope a violently despairing yank and it suddenly came loose. With another jolt of horror he realised that the violent tug had caused his companion to forcefully relinquish the rope.

As the emerald fell, so did the master thief after it. Raccoon and gem plunged for a few split seconds before he reached out and managed to scoop the precious relic to his breast. Flinging out a desperate hand to find a hand-hold, he found his grasp closing on the textured edge of Anubis's gown. His body gave a sickening lurch as it came to a sudden halt in mid-air, but ten metres from the ground. He still had managed to save the emerald, having it clasped tightly in the sweating palm of his left hand.

Quickly he shoved it into the camel skin pouch with the first relic and secured the latch. Giving an assuring whistle to his companion up above, who returned it with a second whistle, Slytunkhamen managed to clamber laboriously back up the surface of Anubis until he reached the head, where he could retrieve the rope and toss it back through the roof. Unfortunately, as he returned the end of the rope to the safe hands of his companion, his foot caught a loose chunk of sandstone fallen from the domed ceiling and it toppled off and fell for a few seconds before landing with a muffled thud on a guard's head. Snapping his gaze upwards, the guard was just in time to give a panicked yell as he saw the raccoon disappear through the hole in the roof, both of the emeralds now gone.

The dark, star spangled sky stretched like a deep black blanket over Slytunkhamen as he emerged from the depths of Anubis's chamber and clambered atop the domed roof of the palace. Scurrying quickly away from the hole, pulling the rope with him, he pricked his ears up as he heard several yells emanating from within the palace walls and buildings. He could also hear some angry and hoarse voices, the clacking sound of feet in sandals running over tiled floors and the sounds of doors slamming. He had but a few precious minutes before the guards surged onto the roof and had him cornered-but he planned to be long gone by then. Securing the camel skin pouch about his shoulder, he shoved both of his canes firmly into his leather belt and finally turned to his mysterious accomplice. He looked not upon an adult companion, but a small and tanned looking meerkat. He had found the boy living as a street urchin on the avenues of the bazaar, managing to save an apple or two from the stalls to feed his starved body. He had pitied the poor boy, taken him in and made him one of his own.

The boy had been excellent with agile tricks and other handy skills in a thief's capers. With a thankful grin to the boy, he plucked a single golden coin from his pouch and flicked it to him. The boy leapt up and caught the coin in his furry palms. Admiring the sheen of it, he gave a return glance towards his friend and smiled. Then with a wave, he was off, hopping and scampering over the scattered rooftops. Slytunkhamen watched him disappear into the night air, hoping he would be safe, before turning away to face the twisting paths of the palace buildings and rooftops beyond him. He stuffed the rope into his belt beside the canes and leapt from the glazed dome, soaring like a bat through the night.

Landing atop a second stone rooftop, Slytunkhamen galloped away at a nimble pace as he listened to the roars of the guards below getting closer and closer to the roof. His heart pounded against his ribs as he ran, his eyes focused on the roofs about him. At the edge of the next building he didn't stop to rest, but leapt with a superb arc across the street below and landed cat-like on the next perch. Again he picked himself up silently and continued to run towards the boundaries of the palace, the emeralds jangling in his pouch. He was so concentrated on his immediate flight from danger that he failed to notice a ragged, dark shadow swooping along in the sky immediately behind him. It moved with the silence of a predator ready to strike and only wing-like shapes could be made out upon it. It was the sudden flash of blue light that finally alerted him to his peril.

There was a tremendous crackling sound that bounced off the palace walls and slammed into the raccoon, blowing him off his feet and sending him sprawling to the stone floor. This was followed by a sudden buzzing humming noise that grew louder and louder, to an ever higher pitch before an almost invisible wave of hot air snapped through the sky and again knocked him flat. Finally, a brilliant ball of crackling blue lightening materialized in the sky just above a building beyond him and expanded into a massive wall of energy, a dark vortex opening in its midst. Through the vortex burst a bizarre looking device, an enormous blimp like construction with a large glass canopy stretching around a cabin at the base and several fins and propellers extending from the bloated body of the balloon.

Beams of blue light burst from the rear of the strange apparition, propelling from the midst of the vortex, which shrunk and disappeared as the blimp hovered up into the sky. Squinting with his eyes, Slytunkhamen could just make out a figure standing in the cabin, black and white somewhat with a tremendous bushy tail and a mane of curling white hair. But he was too late to realise that the shadow had now taken the chance to surprise him, hovering directly above him. He felt the wind knocked from his chest and saw the pouch containing the emeralds fly from his shoulder and, clunking against the stone edge of the roof, disappear as it dropped off the rooftop and disappeared to the pavement below. He cried out in anguish as they vanished.

Feeling himself tossed over onto his back by a cold grip, Slytunkhamen hit the stone with a sickening crunch as he was lurched about momentarily before being raised in a talon like grasp. He felt a large bruise above his left eye swell as he looked into a pair of blaring red eyes, without pupils and utterly unmerciful. He could only see a dark shadow beyond the floating pair of eyes: the unseen enemy apparently had no body to reveal. He felt chilling hate spread through his body, squeezed into him by the steely talons that clasped him and squeezed him in a merciless grip. His canes clattered to the roof as the shadows' claws raised him higher and held him suspended above the streets several metres beneath. He felt the soulless intention course through him, all pouring from those intense eyes. So much hate, so much pain and so much suffering seemed to pour from their depths. Writhing desperately he raised his face and stared directly into his enemy's gaze, refusing to quiver and cower like a frightened coward before this nemesis. The eyes seemed to flicker briefly at his determination before hardening with a steely look of ice and leering down upon the raccoon.

Then Slytunkhamen felt an awful pain sear through his chest as a flash of steel sliced across his vision. He looked down to see a red rose of brilliantly red blood blossoming from his chest, where the claw had impaled him. He gave a last rasping gasp of painful anguish as he felt himself being dropped and falling: the shadow vanished. The night closed in around him.

**It is Your Destiny...  
**

This destiny was foisted upon you, but only because you are meant to be great. You are unique but only as strong as your own heart. Ultimately this responsibility falls to you, and the decisions you make, but I know that you will have the strength. You were meant to be here. It is all up to you now. But never forget the value of compassion – for that is what makes you different. Never give in to temptation and despair. It is not weakness but strength.

Never forgot who you are – do not compromise your true nature. That is how we survive and how we will survive. Only then are we true masters. Without that we are nothing, nothing. What would we be but like the fiends who plague this world? We live to fight against them, standout as a beacon of hope. There cannot be light without darkness or darkness without light. But goodness will always prevail, while there are those with conviction and belief to combat it. You are more than your enemies because you know what it is to hurt, to feel lose: making you more fortunate than they ever will be.

Yes, we are neither all good nor bad ourselves, but the world never truly is. But there are those who fight for a reason and those who just fight for gain. We fight for a reason, because we believe in more than material gain. Our skill gives us insight and power, power which could be abused. Never forget your responsibility. The legacy, and what you choose to do with it, will depend on the future – your future. When the time comes you may question your path. Then you will have the strength to go on. Just remember your identity.

You might wonder why this responsibility has been put upon you: why we ever became the legend you were told of. This is because we believed in, from the beginning, that one can choose their path but remember what really matters. Never let your ambition cloud what is truly important. This dream has been passed on to you from generation to generation. What we do is what we believe in: we believe there is true potential that exists in what we do. Because we can accept that there will be goodness, but times where we must slip towards a darker side of ourselves, we know what it is to be strong.|

Not of physical strength or of athletic prowess. These are tools of our trade but not what we centrally value. We value knowledge, without which you would not be. Without that this story would never have happened. It takes great people to make what we have – not what we possess. You and only you are what set you apart. In times of darkness, you will know when to make the right choices. You will know how you must draw on your strength. You were born, never intended to suffer this conflict. Heroes are not born but made.

Through our belief we have overcome what we despise: we never forgot that we fight for a reason. Never take a life. This is our foundation. If this is your destiny, what you have chosen, then you can be great. But only you will know when the time is right. You shall make those chooses and I know you will make them well. You must trust yourself to chose what is right. There is good in what we do, while the wonderful wealth of potential can be explored. But you must have faith, for it only has potential while you believe.

Protect this – protect my family and pass this on to my son: love will be your guide. You will take over from me now; become the true master you were always destined to be. Fill my place and protect my son, my wife. They must live or there will be unimaginable consequences. When the time is right, pass the book to my son. Pass the legend onto him when he is ready. Then will my destiny be complete. Go, for it is your path. You have the potential – the spirit – to be unique. You deserve this, for you are the true master of thieves.

**Son of a Thief...**

It is time that I told you who you are: who you can be if you make that choice – why you were born into this family. You are my son, destined for great things. It is now in your hands to carry on the work I have done: I now hand this on to you. Remember that I may not always be there for you. There will come a time when you must act by your own heart. Never ignore your instincts, for that is where you're heart lies and your true self also. When I am gone, that will tell you what you must do. Only you can decide on your path.

When you face adversity you will know how to tackle it. I cannot deny that there will be times when you will struggle, when you may suffer pain and regret. But never give in to despair. Goodness will always prevail if belief is there to find it. Remember that I have always believed in you. Tonight will be the time when I intend to pass my work onto you; the very treasure of our family. What you do with this knowledge is up to you, but never forget that it can be abused. Only if you give in to temptation - only once you cannot tell ambition from what really matters. Do not hunger for power, but appreciate it for the wealth it can give you. We have the power of knowledge, which is far greater than any strength. We have the ability to feel compassion: which gives anyone strength over the darkest foe.

While I may be gone in body, I remain in spirit as long as you remember me. Remember me for who I was and what I did for you, my son. But I can only stay with you while you believe in me. If you don't remember me as the loving father I tried to be, then I am only as good as the faith you placed. I hope for your sake that I could give you love – that which you needed and will need. Remember that knowing your weakness is strength, not a failure. You are more precious to me than any gold or wealth. That which is most precious and desirable of all, more so than any treasure: the ability to love, one who loves you.

For if you chose to follow this path – the path laid out for you by your ancestors – then compassion will become your strongest weapon. You will need conviction to believe in what we do: good exists in it. Believe there is a reason for what you are doing. Believe that there is something you fight for; not just because you can. I hope you feel this, but the ultimate chose rests with you. You will do as you see fit in times to come, and I know that you will do what is most true to your heart. A son I will always be proud of. Your mother would be proud of.

I say this now because I know that soon I may be gone. Soon there may be those who seek to destroy us, strip us of our legacy. Only through jealously and hatred would one go this far. I beg you, when you are older and I am gone, that you do not give in to this. For then we would be gone: the code we have kept would be shattered. But you have proved that you are above this. You know what it is to laugh, to cry and to feel despair followed by remorse. But you also know what it is to feel hope. These people have no hope: to feel hope is to believe in the future and believe in your path. You believe that you can overcome your darkest fears, and emerge triumphant. Do not cast aside one you love, who loves you also. No matter how hard it seems or conflicted. In the hardest times, they will provide light – be there for you when you really need it. It may take time, but they will understand; one day.

Hold your friends close and hold your loved ones close. Value them and treasure them, for they are greater than any prize. When you take my place, remember that we seek to be fulfilled in skill, but never at the price of a life lost; never by hurting an innocent. This nature is our true legacy.

**Well, sorry this was a little long in the tooth. I had written about thirteen chapters in advance before starting this story here.  
Only now have I remembered this prologue I had written. I hope you like it!  
This is my little take on Slytunkhamen and all the events before The Thievious Raccoonus.  
Intended as a bit of a follow up or precursor with Thieves in Time, look at it any way you like.  
It is up to you as to who is talking in the two other sections, giving a little more depth and background - though not giving it all away.  
This story is getting very long, so I hope some of you will like following my take on Sly's adventures. Enjoy!**


	2. Chapter 1 - Theft by Night

**Part 1: Thievery by Moonlight.**

**Note: Do not worry if anything strange appeared to happen with the story. I just had to delete and redo all the chapters. All the content has now been replaced and updated. The story is not being deleted, and I will continue with it. It is mostly the same as before, with some crucial editions.**

**Chapter One: Theft by Night.**

**Paris, France: 4:21 AM.**

It was a dark and still night. Stars sparkled in the sky above a luminous moon. The moonlight bathed the landscape below it in a ghostly light. The rays shone down upon a series of closely packed rooftops. A series of cobbled tiles, chimneys and television aerials littered the dusty expanse. Further away, neon lights and a large neon sign glowed in the darkness. The sign proclaimed 'Le Police' in green neon letters.

Then, like a stab of lightning, a swift, grey shadow leapt from a dark patch on the rooftops. It soared across the sky and landed, feet pointed, on a television aerial. Like a silent bat it leapt forth again and raced silently across the rooftop. It dodged around and over air vents and cooling stacks. In front of the shadow a large, stone chimney loomed. The figure splayed out an arm. In its hand it clasped a wooden cane, about a metre long and with a golden, sharp edged hook on its tip. The blue gloved hand sprung out and the cane came into contact with the chimney bricks. The stack shattered and pieces of mortar sprayed and flew through the sky, toppling to the street below. The figure dived through the haze of smoke left behind by the broken stack and with a flash of blue, landed neatly on a third story window sill. Concealed by the light of the window, the figure inched along the sill and into the shining patch. Against the glowing window, the silent figure was revealed.

It was a young raccoon, about twenty-one years with glossy grey fur and a large bushy tail. He sported a tight, blue tunic over his torso and a yellow belt emblazoned with a symbol like a raccoon's head. He also wore a blue cap over his long, pointed ears and a billowing black bandana that covered his eyes and curled around the back of his head. Behind the blindfold a pair of cunning, brown eyes was flashing. Also, at his left knee was slung a red satchel and on his back, a larger red pack. To top it off, he also sported knee high, blue boots and blue gloves trimmed with yellow collars. Despite all this, he was as silent as a gust of wind. He made almost no sound at all.

With a goal seemingly in mind, the raccoon sniffed briefly at the air and then with sharp reflexes he was familiar with using, whizzed across the expanse of the sill and again flew through the air. He sliced through the sky and allowed his streamlined body to guide him towards the next rooftop. With another light flump he pounced onto the neon sign. Amidst a small shower of electrical sparks from the lights beneath his feet he gave another brief gaze to his surrounds and then sailed down to the rooftop. The raccoon pounced onto another large aerial atop the building and scanned his surrounds, keeping his balance on the tips of his toes. His gaze met a plastered wall on the opposite end of the roof. It read 'Interpol Headquarters' in red, white and blue lettering. The raccoon grinned, his goal finally found.

His observation was suddenly broken however by a loud and abrupt buzzing ring from the knee satchel at his leg. Moving his eyes from the chipped and weathered lettering, he reached into his satchel and removed a device that looked something like a pair of binoculars. Only this pair had a stack of computer chips affixed above the lenses and a large focusing device with multiple dials attached to the grip and tubes emblazoned with the word 'Bionic-u-com'. Lifting the device to his eyes, the raccoon twiddled the focusing device and a miniature set of virtual screens appeared. On one screen was his own face and on the other was a turtle sporting glasses and a large red bowtie. At the same time he monitored the area through the lenses. The turtle on the left hand screen coughed, clearing his throat and spoke.

"Sly, Sly, do you read me?" The turtle yelled, apparently in some distress.

"Yeah, yeah, I read you loud and ah, very loud," said Sly in a slightly annoyed tone.

"Yeah, well good," said the turtle "I just wasn't sure about this job."

"Keep it in Bentley," said Sly, "You're safe in the van. I'm the one at risk."

"Okay, okay," said the turtle called Bentley, "I was just concerned, what with having to break into Interpol headquarters and all."

"Relax Bentley," Sly said again, "All I need to do is steal that police file from inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox. You know that thing has got the dough on me."

"Yeah, I know," said Bentley in a conciliatory manner, "I just thought that I should go over that plan of ours again." Sly sighed slightly at this and sat back on his heels, ready for one of Bentley's speeches.

"Well," coughed Bentley, again clearing his throat, "You know the drill. I've already charted a route for you, down into the third floor of the building." Sly nodded and Bentley continued.

"Do you see that air vent over to your left," he said as Sly turned his Binoc-u-com in the direction, "If you break through the casing there and crawl through the shaft you can access the offices through an elevator tunnel." Sly nodded again and Bentley resumed his speech.

"Then from there I guess all you have to do is find inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox's office. I suppose that's where she will keep the file." Sly also nodded his agreement at this pronouncement and stretched, wanting to speak himself.

"That's all very well Bentley, but what about those thieving skills you were telling me about eh?" Sly had a curious tone to his voice this time as he said it.  
"Ah, yes, well," Bentley mumbled in a low voice, "I guess that was another point to cover." He mumbled again and continued speaking.

"Point the Binoc-u-com towards the water tank to your right," he said in a rather instructing way, "Now, can you see any twinkling blue auras appearing on the narrow platform around it?"

As Sly adjusted to face the tank he saw what he meant. As he focused towards the rim of the tank he could see, just glimmering in the corner of his vision, a trail of blue sparks ringing the tank. He blinked in surprise.

"Yeah, I see them," he said in reply, "The twinkling auras you were mentioning."

"Great, down to business," said Bentley, "According to my research those blue sparks are a trait following only in the Cooper line, your family. It appears that when you are able to envision those lines you are actually sensing a thieving opportunity. It means you can perform some sort of thieving stunt that allows you to pull off any heist with ease. Almost like a form of ESP I suppose."

A grin formed itself on Sly's face as he listened. He liked the sound of this stunt. Shaking himself out of the reverie, he spoke again to Bentley.

"That's actually quite cool pal," he said encouragingly, "I can definitely see how my family would have thought it useful. I'll be sure to try it!"

"Great," said Bentley, "I guess that's it really. Hope it all goes well. Look after yourself and ah, remember we'll be waiting for you down in the parking lot. After you've got the papers, just come straight there if no incident occurs, we'll be waiting." Bentley gulped slightly and swallowed.

"Thanks for watching my back buddy," Sly said gratefully, "Don't worry about it; I'll be down with the file in no time." Sly felt quite prideful as he said it.

"Ah, that's all right," Bentley gulped finally, "I'm just trying to keep you alive." Then seemingly as an afterthought he added, "Partner."

Sly grinned at this last addition and smiled gratefully once more. Then he took the Binoc-u-com from his eyes and replaced it in his satchel. Bentley's last words lingering in his head, he turned to the job at hand. He faced the water tank and the air vent beyond it. Then he gathered himself up and leapt from the aerial towards the ledge. He landed neatly on the ledge and pointed his toes, scuttling neatly across the blue auras. Amazed at the finesse he seemed able to show, he glowed with an inner pride at the cunning of his family legacy. Then, keeping his mind fixed on the job he inched around the remainder of the tank and sailed towards the vent.  
Sly pounced, perching himself on the metal lip just beyond the air vent and took a breather as he scuttled into the safety of the vent's shadow.

Then he raised the cane and with a good whack, smashed the vent from its bolted holdings. As the grate clattered to the rooftop, Sly had already ducked into the shaft beyond. Racing over the corrugated metal beneath his feet, Sly aimed for a speck of light at the end of the tunnel. He raced out of the shaft onto a narrow gantry and slid to a halt suddenly, not a moment too soon. Below him stretched the shaft Bentley had mentioned and there he could see the entrance to the building. But there was just one problem. A deadly series of orange security lasers bridged the gap between him and the floor. He could hear the electricity sizzling from them as they blazed through their circuits. Gulping, Sly backed away slightly. As he wondered what to do, another crackling sound echoed from his pocket. Bentley's voice issued from the satchel.

"Ah yes, I forgot one more thing," he said, "You'll probably encounter some security lasers. If so just try and dodge them best you can and don't touch them, they are high intensity. But one other thing; if you smash the alarm linked to their circuit you'll also disable them, handy isn't it?"

"Yeah, thanks again Bentley," said Sly, "I guess I owe you one." Hitching a grin upon his face again, Sly walked once more towards the laser pit. Examining his situation he noticed several metal platforms that formed another gantry, descending towards the floor. Those would be his way down.

Sly lunged forth and cutting his way through the lasers, bounced onto the first platform. Feeling bolder he leapt again and successfully landed on the second platform. In this manner he managed to navigate past the lasers until he found himself perched next to the system alarm, which sat before a metal grate which blocked the entrance into the building. Sly swung his cane again and the alarm sparked before shorting out and crumpling into a pile of twisted metal. Surprisingly the gate also clanked open, swinging in a wide arc as the alarm crumpled. Taking it as a sign of good luck, Sly ventured through with caution and into the wooden boarded corridor of Interpol headquarters. It was time to find the file.

A long corridor stretched before him. Sly gazed down its length, peering at the doors that lined it on one side and the series of large glass windows stretching along the other. None of them however were emblazoned with the inspector's name. Sly then proceeded down the corridor, passing a row of large potted plants and mahogany wooden desks. Keeping his eyes peeled he looked for any glint of gold or a plaque that might indicate a high ranking official. Still seeing no sign of the office, Sly stopped at a second corridor that turned from the first one and then turned down it. More desks and pot plants lined the milky brown walls and a bulletin board was pinned up at the far end, tacked with many notices and documents. Ahead he could see more glass windows lining the far end of the building. With a tip-toe in his step, he made his way towards them.

As he reached the mouth of the corridor, the Binoc-u-com crackled to life again. He stopped to listen.

"Sorry about the interruption Sly," Bentley said apologetically, "But I have one more piece of information for you. Inspector Fox's office is actually behind a red door. It should be at the end of the west corridor. And remember it is probably reinforced, so you will need an alternate way to consider. Unfortunately I don't think your cane will break it."

Sly sighed in a slightly exasperated way, but was grateful all the same. "Thanks again Bentley," he said, "Just try and remember to speak up next time."  
"Yeah, sure," said Bentley apologetically, "I'll remember that."

Hopeful as he finished speaking, Sly turned the corner around the corridor and peaked down the left hand side. And there it was. A red painted, wooden door gleamed right at the end of the corridor. Sly ran closer and he could just read the words "Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox-Head Inspector" cut into a golden plaque. It was his goal at last. Even though Sly was trustful of Bentley's observations, he decided to give it a try. Raising his family's cane he swung it at the door and smacked the wood. He was slightly surprised to find therefore that it whacked the wood but bounced off of the polished surface, vibrating slightly. As he steadied himself he saw that not a mark had been made on its surface. Time to find that new way in, he thought.

Glancing around him, Sly saw a glass window that lay slightly open beside the door. That's the way he thought and he made his way towards the sill. With the help of another mahogany desk he clambered onto the window sill and pushed the glass shutter open. It swung out, hanging over the street three stories below and hung suspended in space. As he glanced over the edge, Sly could see the cobbled stone road below that line the Parisian streets. No matter he thought, Cooper's have always been able to deal with heights. He glanced to his left and saw the window to Carmelita's office; about three metres away, it also hung open. That was the way in. The only problem was to bridge the gap.

Observing his predicament, Sly noted a narrow stone ledge jutting out of the side of the building. It was a set of cobblestone bricks, adorning the arches of the windows on the floor below. Conveniently it ran the distance between him and the office window. Edging himself towards the left side of the sill he edged one foot onto the ledge. As he did so he shook his head, thinking he was seeing things. But his eyes were not deceiving him. The blue sparks again lay sparkling across the ledge, running towards the window. Another thieving opportunity he thought? Regardless he edged both his feet onto the bricks and rested his weight on one of the cobblestones. Instantly a fine trickle of dust ran from a crevice between the bricks and rained onto the street. Sly tested his footing again but it seemed secure. Reassured, he inched another few steps onto the ledge. As he reached halfway, a jarring sensation jolted his right foot and he glanced down to see a fair sized chunk of cobblestone plummet from under his right foot and smash on the streets below. His pulse rising slightly, Sly kept moving.

He was now but a few steps from a balcony that inched about three feet from the wall. Bolstering his efforts Sly speedily covered the last three feet of the ledge and hopped lightly onto the polished stone surface of the balcony. A burnished metal railing ran its circumference and a single electric lamp gave off a faint glow as it hung above the window. Feeling that he had quietly achieved something, Sly strode over to the glass window and seizing the latch, gently swung it back. With a silent squeak the window swung back towards the stone masonry of the wall and lay to rest on a large cobblestone. Smiling with more satisfaction at his apparently undetected entry, Sly bounded into the room beyond. And there he stood; at the edge of the inner office, next to the red panelled door.

Well that was all fine and dandy thought Sly to himself, but he still had to search for the file. Thinking he may as well start looking, Sly swept his eyes around the room. It was relatively large; about ten by six metres and unlike the corridor beyond it, with a series of waist high wooden panels mounted on the wall with peeling blue wall paper above that. Behind the door to the office was suspended a dirty cream coloured blind that was half drawn and suspended from a golden rail above the door frame. Lifting the blind, Sly could see a fox head like symbol emblazoned on the smelted glass. The light from the corridor behind it illuminated the edges of the symbol, somehow making it feel more significant. This somehow made Sly feel slightly nervous and awed to be in the office of someone so apparently devoted to the law. But as the last of a line of master thieves he still respected the law.

Shaking his senses, thinking of Bentley waiting worriedly in the van, Sly decided to get back to the work at hand. Turning away from the door he returned his attention to the western most wall of the office. It too was lined with thigh-height glass windows and this effect meant the moonlight outside spilled over the threshold, causing a slightly ghostly aura. Being a thief who was familiar with guile and stealth however, this was more of a convenience than a bother to Sly. His eyes were well accustomed to searching in the dark. Having covered three sides of the room he now focused on the remaining wall; the one facing north and the one with the inspector's desk pressed up against it. Also like the desks in the hall, it was made of polished mahogany. Sly scurried over for a closer examination.

Leaning over the items presented by the desk's polished surface, Sly began to rifle silently through the top most layers of documents. He may be a thief, but he still liked to retain a relevant air of gentlemanliness; Bentley was always lecturing him on the importance to be polite. The top most layers of detritus now skewed away, Sly began rifling through the filing cabinets beneath the desk. But still no documents with contents reading 'Cooper' did he find. With a small sigh of exasperation he straightened up and his eye was instantly caught by a series of plastic dividers resting on a corner of the desk, which also held a handful of papers and documents. Thinking he might as well do a thorough job of it, Sly reached for them and scanned the contents. But still no documents appeared and when he felt like giving up another two things caught his eye.

A velvet red couch that lay against one wall and a thin, wooden noticeboard that was suspended above the desk was what took his interest. Even better, next to the couch lay a three stacks high set of filing cabinets, encased in a dark green metallic box. A broad grin appearing on his face, thinking of his ignorance in not noticing these factors, Sly decided to search the cabinets first. Wrenching open the first draw he flew through wave after wave of documents that presented themselves. The first cabinet sorted, he began the second and the result was the same. Even though it now seemed unlikely, he spun through the files of the last cabinets and was not disappointed. No matter, he thought, time to search the couch.

Although it didn't seem likely, he thought there might be a slim possibility that the inspector had succumbed to some guile herself and as so hidden important papers in the velvet lining. Though after upturning the two cushions and flipping the pillows over on the base of the couch, no articles appeared. Sly didn't stop there however and reached towards the notice board above the desk. He scanned the items tacked there and one document caught his eye. Although nothing was written upon it, a small photograph about ten by ten centimetres, tacked to the top right corner of the board, bared an image of his own face. A gold star was pinned to the corner of the picture though, which seemed to mean something. Not letting that bother him however, Sly prized it off the board and tucked it into his back-pack. No harm in cleaning up the evidence.

A bemused feeling came over Sly as he sat down on the inspector's desk chair to think. Despite searching every edifice of the office, he had not found the elusive file. He glanced around one more time; at the desk, file cabinet, couch, windows and a small mahogany coffee table. There were no details he had overlooked. He had even searched the bottles scattered over the surface of the table and the fittings of the ceiling lamp. But to no avail. He finished his observations and swung his head around. As he did so, he noticed a dark shadow, caused by the moonlit window that concealed the eastern most corner of the office. How could he have missed that? He inched towards the spot. Then, as if rising from the shadows to confirm his suspicions, a huge hunk of metal and corrugated steel appeared, held together by huge rivets. It was a combination vault – a thief's best friend.

Outside, in the cool of the night, a lone figure stood atop a high roof. The figure was feminine in appearance with a long and bushy tail. A sizeable holster was slung at the figure's waist, which cradled a brilliant red pistol. A gold-embossed badge hung about the figure's throat, proclaiming the title of inspector and affiliation to Interpol.  
The inspector had detected Sly Cooper shortly after his arrival. It was her job to intercept and contain the thief. But inside she felt some conflict of emotion. The figure felt that she was not entirely sure of the motives behind these intentions, or why she would feel this way to the raccoon. Could it be affection? She tried to tell herself she was being silly, tried to deny it; it was ridiculous, of course it was not. Or could it be?

No, she must not get caught up in her own feelings: she had a duty to uphold and that was to uphold the law. This was what she had to do. She lingered for a moment, fingers brushing the radio at her belt. She was quite sure the raccoon had feelings towards her too. Neither seemed to be openly admitting it; over their scattered interactions they both seemed almost flirtatious. No, she was not that kind of girl. She had her duty to do and she would do it – no delays. The figure scooped up the radio and switched it on. The speaker crackled.

"We have Sly Cooper" she said quietly, "Repeat, we have Sly Cooper."

"Reading you loud and clear," replied a thick French accent, "Action will be taken?"

"Affirmative," she replied, "Preparing to apprehend and detain now."

**This is Chapter 1 of 3 in Part 1.**


	3. Chapter 2 - The Lady and the Thief

**Chapter Two: The Lady and the Thief.**

It was exactly the object Sly had been looking for. He should have thought of it, it should have been obvious. He should have looked for it from the start. Where else would a law driven woman such as Carmelita Montoya Fox keep documents of such importance? He should have guessed it was in a safe. Resigned to the facts, Sly paused at the heavy steel door of the beast. He examined it closely. The huge vault was adorned at its face with a fair sized dial, indicating a combination lock and then a series of number wheels, three to be exact, ranging from the numerals one to nine. Simple, but effective Sly thought. He guessed that the wheels unlocked the heavy mechanism of the safe. Thinking on his feet, Sly quickly calculated it was definitely Bentley's department.  
**  
**Knowing he might not have too much time before the illusive inspector Fox showed up, Sly quickly reached for his satchel a second time and eased out the Binoc-u-com. He refocused the dial atop the lenses and pressed it to his eyes. Again the virtual screen popped up and Bentley's image crackled into life, appearing on the left hand side.  
**  
**"Sly, Sly," Bentley screeched in a worried tone. He seemed in much distress. "Are you all right?! Do we need to scrub the mission?"  
**  
**"Yeah, yeah, don't fret buddy, I'm fine" said Sly soothingly, "The mission hasn't been compromised – yet. I just need some help regarding a combination safe, I believe you are good at this technology stuff. The problem is that having searched the office I think Carmelita has stored the file within it. So as you see, without a combination, that is a bit of a problem."  
**  
**"Ah yes, I see the problem you have" said Bentley in sudden understanding, "I'll see what I can do. Just hang on a second or two. I think I can hack into the Interpol computer system from the van. Maybe I can get the dough on the combination to Carmelita's vault."  
**  
**Sly waited patiently on the opposite end of the line as he listened to the sound of an electric buzzing and then a series of beeps and blips. Then there was a brief moment of silence before a long bell like tone sounded and there was a sigh of relief from Bentley. Then he heard the sound of a mouse scrolling downwards and the click of several buttons.  
**  
**"Uh-huh, uh-huh" said Bentley through the line, "I think I have it. Let me see, ah yes, these are Inspector Fox's files. Just one more moment, I should have the combination for you in just a second. I reckon this is it."There were a few more scrabbling sounds over the line and then Bentley's face fizzled back into being onto the Binoc-u-com lenses.  
**  
**"Yes, this is it Sly" said Bentley rather more energetically, "I have the actual combination here on hand. Now listen closely and I can give it to you. Are you standing by the vault? Now listen in closely and we'll have that baby cracked in no time!"  
**  
**Sly knelt down in front of the steel door at Bentley's words and placed his hand on the first of the dials. At the same time he placed the Binoc-u-com on the floor beside his left knee so as he could listen to Bentley's words."Ok Bentley" said Sly, "Go ahead."  
**  
**"Here we go then" said Bentley, "This took a bit of algebra and mathematics to get, but here it is. Make sure you're listening. Scroll onto the first dial the number seven."  
**  
**Sly proceeded to do so as he listened to the words. Then placing his hand on the second dial he scrolled in the number three as Bentley read it out and then the final number, eight. The vault door gave a creaking groan and then it clunked and Sly heard a heavy mechanism fall into place. Then a final grinding noise sounded and the heavy slab of steel swung open and came to rest against the glass window of the eastern wall. Peering inside the cavernous interior of the vault Sly saw a lining of red leather nailed into the walls. And resting in the midst of the silky chest lay a fine stand composed of finely coiled bronze wires and topped with a silver embossed plaque. There, resting on the silver plaque was what Sly had hoped for. The Cooper file was perched atop the bronze stand. The vault had delivered the goods.  
**  
**"Do we have a positive on the file Sly?" There was a questioning tone to Bentley's voice as he appealed to Sly's silence. "I didn't make a mistake with that combination did I? I'm sure I hacked into the correct network. But you never know; that Carmelita could be wilier than we think."  
**  
**"Don't fear, it's all good," Sly said in an effort to console his friend, "The combination was on the level. And as a bonus, the file was in it. It is as good as ours now. Maybe we can even get out of here before Carmelita gets here; though it wouldn't necessarily be a bad thing. It would be fun seeing her again. We had such fun back in Bogota – remember that tear gas? I haven't seen her either since our heist in Bombay."  
**  
**Here his voice trailed away and he sat back, lost in his thoughts of the inspector. Suddenly he was broken out of his reverie as Bentley coughed loudly over the Binoc-u-com line. Noticing Sly's blush Bentley felt a little suspicious of his friend's feelings.  
**  
**"Ah, yes, well I hate to interrupt you in your romantic thoughts, but I really think you should get that file and skedaddle. It would be easier than causing a fuss. You know how persistent inspector Fox is." Bentley ended his speech with a slight accusatory tone. For a while now he had expected that Sly had more than just simple feelings towards the inspector. This seemed to confer his suspicions. "And yes, I remember just how much I hate tear gas."  
**  
**"Oh yes, of course" said Sly apologetically, "I'll just grab that file. Then we can get back to the hideout."

Intending then to console Bentley further, Sly swung his arm forward and plucked the file from its podium. Then he lifted it from the interior of the vault and tucked it into his pack. As an added afterthought Sly then reached down into his leg satchel and removed a small, folded flap of cardboard and flipped it open. It was a small blue and white symbol, again shaped like a caricature of a raccoon's head as on his belt. Staring for a small moment at the symbol, the symbol that reminded him of the legacy of his family, Sly felt another surge of pride at the legendary exploits they had undertaken. Then he placed the cardboard placard in the centre of the silver plaque, as if to mark his work. It seemed fitting as a beginning to his personal tributes of the Cooper legacy. Carmelita would be quite surprised when she found the file no longer inside.  
**  
**"Okay Bentley," said Sly at last, "I've secured the file and we can get out of here. I'll be down as soon as I can."  
**  
**"Yeah, that's great pal, be still my beating heart." Bentley could be heard to heave a sigh of relief as he said the sentence. "I'll just hand you over to Murray now. He'll give you a few words on how we'll handle this getaway. We need to as explicit as possible."  
**  
**"Okay, put him on," said Sly, "It will be good speaking to Murray; he always brings life to the party – such a great guy."  
**  
**Sly listened to the crackling sounds that momentarily began to issue from the Binoc-u-com on the floor and then a few grunting and puffing sounds were heard. Finally a long sigh was let out and a heavy body could be heard flumping into place. Sly jammed the Binoc-u-com lenses over his eyes again as a porky and thick muscled face appeared on the screen where Bentley had been. It was a hippo. He had rich pink skin and a duo of thick white teeth that seemed overly large. He also had small fleshy flaps for ears that hung over the black mask he wore to cover his big, blue eyes. Just like Sly he had a rather roguish look, but a kind look as well to that thick face. Not so much like the thin and pinched face of Bentley with his wire framed glasses and neatly ironed bow-tie. He spoke in a low and tough voice that had a hint of dimness about it.  
**  
**"Hi Sly," he said breathlessly, "Great to be in action now isn't it?"  
**  
**"Sure is Murray," Sly said in a warm tone, "It's great to see you and Bentley assisting me on the field."  
**  
**"We do our best," said Murray happily, "We just try to be good mates and keep you safe. It's important we stick together."  
**  
**"Don't worry" Sly continued, "I do notice it and it is well appreciated. It's nice to know my pals are watching my back."  
**  
**"Thanks Sly" said Murray, blushing slightly as he spoke, "We should stick together as a team. All for one and one for all I say. Now let's get down to business with our current plan so we can continue to keep you out of harm's way."Sly sat back again, waiting patiently as Murray began to relate the scheme.  
**  
**"As you know" he said, pausing for breath, "I am the driver of the getaway van. It isn't any different this time. Bentley has instructed me to drive to the rear of the parking lot, just beyond the east wall of the building. I believe that is where Carmelita's office is anyway. I have parked the team van just beyond the gate and we're waiting for you there. It should then be relatively simple. All you have to do is make a speedy exit through one of the east facing windows and beyond should be a metal fire escape leading into the parking area. From there it should just be a simple matter of running across the parking lot and then hopping into the van. I'll leave the back doors open so as to get away quickly."  
**  
**"I got it pal" Sly said, "Could you just sum it up for me again?"  
**  
**"Sure" Murray said obligingly, "Just head down the fire escape and Bentley and I will be waiting in the getaway van. Keep safe Sly and we hope to see you in a few minutes."  
**  
**"Roger that, over and out" Sly said in official manner, "Will do Murray. See you in just a few minutes."  
**  
**"See you Sly" said Murray, an affectionate tone in his voice now, "Just remember, as Bentley would say, all for one and one for all; over and out."  
**  
**The small screen on the Binoc-u-com crackled and the image disappeared. Finished talking, Sly finally replaced the instrument back into his satchel and flicked the dial. The lenses de-focused as he did so and the computer chips stopped humming. The office fell silent again. Sly gave a final sweeping glance to the room, intending to leave no other traces other than the paper cutting that now rested in the vault and turned towards the glass windows. As with the previous window he silently flicked the latch and it twisted downwards, letting the glass pain swing out towards the night air beyond. His exit route now established, Sly stepped one blue booted foot over the threshold and then the other, and he stepped out into the night air of Paris.  
**  
**A chill wind blew through the streets. The cold breeze cut through the buildings and sent a slight shiver through Sly as he hopped over the threshold of the office window. Despite his tunic being slim lined and allowing him to move stealthily, it wasn't the warmest garment. Still he thought you had to give up some things in order to be a clever thief. That was a sentience Sly remembered his father repeating to him eighteen years before. Sly became slightly wistful again as he thought of his dead father. A tear rolled down his cheeks and plopped onto his boot. Quickly he shook himself and recovered his feelings. As Bentley and his father would've said; no point in crying over spilt milk. He sniffed again and walked out and stepped onto the metal gantry bolted to the eastern side of the building. He peered down and examined his exit.  
**  
**A burnished metallic stairway stretched beneath him and criss-crossed back and forth until it reached the concrete of the car park below. The stairs climbed three levels upwards until they met the very platform on which he now stood and behind him a final set of stairs led to the roof. Handrails ran down their expanse and the rungs were bolted into the wall. The fire escape hugged the side of the bricked building like a large, black snake. From his vantage point Sly could just glimpse the concrete arch at the far end of the lot that marked the exit.

Beneath it he could also see the team van parked; a large purple, flaming orange and blue truck that Murray had personally modified for the gang's use. A large Cooper emblem composed of steel was bolted to the bumper bar at the front and it trailed a racing flag at the back. Murray in his earlier days had loved turf racing in trucks and other haphazard assortments of custom vehicles. Bentley also had commissioned an assortment of gadgets to be added to the vehicle. A large radar dish sat atop the rear of the van and a radio antenna stuck out from the top of the drivers cab. The van had been many places. It was Murray's life and soul – he loved it like a child.**  
**As Sly shifted his gaze from the van he could just judge that it was about one-hundred metres from him. All that now lay between him and the gang was the expanse of the parking lot. He thought that being a fast sprinter he could just make it before anyone noticed him.

From past experience he knew that Carmelita Fox could appear quite quickly and was fast on her feet. Bentley was right; it was easier to make an unnoticed exit. He turned towards the first staircase descending down and idly trotted towards it. Beside it, a fluorescent red arrow, emblazoned on the cobblestones directed him downwards as well. Following the direction it pointed, he put his foot on the first step. Just as he started to descend, out of the corner of his vision, Sly glimpsed the gleaming steel structure of the Eiffel tower, rising above the Parisian skyline. A smile flickered on his face at the thoughts it brought to him and he turned to go.**  
**Then a sudden rustling sound to his right caught his attention and he pricked his ears up, listening intently. Turning his face towards a building that lay just over the concrete wall of the car lot he saw a flicker of brown pirouette from the cobbled roof of the building and gracefully glide onto a cafe sign that stuck out from the edifice. Focusing his gaze over the wall he made it out to be a figure of a vixen. Widening his eyes, Sly suddenly realised who the vixen was.  
**  
**"Stop right there," said the figure, "Criminal", it added with a crisp snap. The accent had a French tone to it and seemed to roll delicately off the tongue of the speaker. But there was definitely something else there as well, possibly the curl of a Spanish tongue. Sly grinned as he spoke in reply.  
**  
**"Ah, the ever lovely Inspector Carmelita Montoya Fox," said Sly, guile rising in his voice, "I haven't seen you since the job in Bombay."  
**  
**"Yes, that reminds me," Carmelita said with another brisk snap, "You still need to return the fire star of India to its rightful owners - I don't forget either Sly."

"Oh of course," Sly said, "But ah, I was thinking of giving it to you as a lovely present, much like yourself, to bad really."

"Thanks, but no thank you," said Carmelita with a tone of venom in her voice, "I think we can safely discuss this when you're where you belong; behind bars!"

"Nah, I don't think so," said Sly, "I hear the service is lousy. And it's not really my kind of accommodation." He had a humorous air to his voice now. Carmelita didn't seem to find it amusing. Her voice turned colder, but still with an undefinable feminine touch to it.

"Well I'm sorry Sly," she said, "But that's where you're going. It's been my mission to bring you to justice ever since we met." Even as she said those words, Sly could see a small up twitch in her lips and a small rise in her eye brows. Whatever she said, Sly also knew that Carmelita had more than simple feelings towards him to. He smiled as he looked at her; this game of toying with each other had gone on for quite a while.

Sly examined Carmelita as she spoke; she hadn't changed much since Bombay. Like him she still retained that glint to her that indicated a sort of agelessness. She had the same long, flowing, black curls of hair raining waist length down her back and ending in a tight pony tail tied with a golden band. She also wore a golden ring on her left ear which hadn't been there last time. But much else was the same. She wore a shortened officers jacket that had wrist length sleeves, hung down to her waist and pockets on either side. She also now adorned here hands with tight fitting yellow gloves.

Below the jacket a bare section of her stomach all around the waist lay exposed to the night as she wore a tight fitting jacket that rapped itself around her upper torso and looped over her shoulders. The leather of the garment pressed against her chest accented her muscled, but still feminine physic. Below her waist she wore a pair of smooth, black, tight fitting officer's pants that hugged her legs and ran down into knee high leather boots. The boots had long laces that ran up their face and ended in a knot at the knee. Around the rim of the pants she wore a belt that carried a holster, silver buckle and several small pouches.

Sly's gaze wandered upwards again and he examined her face. It still had the beauty of passing years and it entranced him slightly. A pair of thin, rosy red lips ran across the lower section and a small, pointed black nose accented the centre of the picture. A perfectly round and petite beauty mark labelled her left cheek. Above that a pair of dazzlingly large brown eyes gleamed and lustrous eye brows crowned them. She had small pinched cheeks that adorned her face and the whole image was set in a heart shaped visage.

Below her face the features were accentuated further by a black band around her neck that boosted a gold placard emblazoned with a star symbol; that of the Interpol police. Like her cheeks, the rest of her body sat very upright and proper. She held her back straight and a bushy tail extended from behind her. The leather jacket she wore pushed up her chest and tightly pinned her bosom upwards. Despite being beautiful, Sly could also see the speed and cunning in her. She was not to be underestimated.

Then a loud exhaling of speech from Carmelita bought Sly out of his reverie.

"Cooper," she said, clearly trying to indicate authority, "We have tarried long enough. It's time for you to surrender. Come with me willingly and I shall see to it that your sentence is shortened." Sly could hear an almost beseeching tone in her voice now. Still, he knew what he should do. As much as he liked Carmelita, he wasn't intent on spending time behind bars.

"Sorry Carmelita," said Sly almost genuinely, "But as much as I would like to spend time with you in a cell, I really must be going." He snapped off his sentence with a brisk nod and turned to leave. But he heard a cocking noise behind him and flinched again.

Carmelita had raised a brilliant red pistol in front of her now and was pointing it straight at Sly. It appeared to have been concealed in the holster until now. That's not good he thought. He could see her fingers poised on the trigger, raising it with both hands ready to strike. He noticed the concentration in her. She didn't flinch from her gaze. Sly was pretty sure she was also a dead eye shot; it was time to bail out.

"Hey, that bazooka really brings out the colour of your eyes," he said, trying to make a joke of the situation. As an afterthought he added, "Very fetching."  
"Yes," she replied, "This is my good friend, the shock pistol. It packs a paralysing punch that is sure to subdue anyone, even you Sly." Sly searched her eyes as it was said and he could see a hint of hesitation in her pupils. _What was she thinking?_

"Now you see that's the problem," Sly said consolingly, "A girl whose best friend is a firearm has got a problem. Maybe I could take you out for a little dinner, dancing perhaps - a romantic evening in other terms. It would help to relieve the tension." He punctuated the last two sentences with a hopeful tone. "I sense that you hesitate anyway."

"What – yes, I mean no, of course," Carmelita said, "And as tempting as that may be, I have a duty to do Sly: capturing you." She raised her pistol further and then added, "Make it easy Cooper."

"Sorry inspector" said Sly, suddenly shifting into a professional manner, "But that's not on my agenda. I really must be going. I'll see you around." As he finished that he decided to add, "Carmelita." He felt better saying her name. Then with a grin on his face he turned and ran for the staircase. He heard the cry of surprise issue from Carmelita as he ran and he also heard her voice echo behind saying:  
"Come back here ring-tail!"

Ring-tail Sly thought, that's a new one. But he didn't stop to ponder the matter; he just ran as fast as his feet would carry him.

Carmelita stood atop the roof and stared after Cooper as he barrelled down the stair way. She had had a small, hopeful feeling that she wouldn't have to resort to force. She felt deep down that she had feelings for the thief and she was sure he knew it. She couldn't explain it, but a part of her felt that she wanted him to escape. She looked at the pistol cradled in her grip. She had to shove down her personal feelings; she knew what she must do.

Sly ran at the fastest speed he could muster. He was barrelling down the stairs, the metal slats clanking and echoing beneath his feet. He knew he had temporarily stunned Carmelita at his swift exit, but he knew that wouldn't last long. She had sharp reflexes he had previously experienced and he knew that they were equally matched. But he didn't turn his gaze but just kept running. Then, as if to confirm his idea, as he reached the first gantry a loud bang sounded just inches above his head. He finally swivelled around to see that Carmelita had launched a ball of electric energy from her pistol and it had crashed headlong into the gantry above him. It spewed a wave of electric lightning over the metal and then the platform split and fell. A horrible whining and tearing noises rent the air as the structure contorted.  
The remains of the twisted metal rained down upon the place he now stood and he dived for cover as the rubble pounded the place he had been standing. Although he was sure that Carmelita had not meant to do so, he was sure that the collapsed gantry had been intended to block his escape. She wanted to capture him; she would never intentionally kill anyone.

Still he ran, desperately trying to outrun Carmelita's pistol as he heard another series of shots launched at the fire escape. Again an electric sphere of energy soared over his head and collided with a strut of the stairs. Another spasm of energy rocked the structure and the second floor splintered and crashed downwards; gouging marks into the cobblestone they gripped. Just narrowly beating the fall of rubble once again, Sly rolled onto the final balcony. About three metres below lay the concrete ground but it was still too far away to risk Carmelita's pistol. But he was rendered without a choice as another energy ball slammed into the frame of the final staircase and sent it crumbling and toppling towards the hard ground.

With a loud rumble, the rubble scattered over the parking lot and metal fragments and beams rolled confusedly. Sly skittered to a halt at the tip of the once intact staircase, his mind desperately calculating a plan. He glimpsed again that Carmelita was preparing to stun him with another electric bolt. Time had run out. He leapt from the metal platform and he flew through the air as Carmelita's projectile tore apart the remains of the gantry.

Carmelita lifted her pistol, glancing at the dust cloud that shrouded the wreckage of the stairs. Had Cooper fallen? She felt a brief moment of concern before she cried out again. She saw Sly dart out of the dust cloud and race across the expanse of the car park. She now saw what he aimed for; a large van lay at the arched exit to the parking lot. Its doors were flung wide as if waiting to greet him. Cooper sure had loyal friends; she admired that of him. Sly was cunning and planned his escapes well. He would make a speedy escape in the van. She knew to capture him it would have to be before that point. But she had another factor on her side; ahead the parking was littered with police vehicles and wooden barriers. Cooper would have trouble getting around that. She raised her pistol again: _sorry ring-tail_.

Sly's heart was beating hard in his chest as he ran towards the distant site of the van. Gradually the metres were closing but there was still a distance to cover. His slim body trickled with sweat as he ran. Ahead he saw a group of police cars scattering the area ahead of him. Time to use more fancy acrobatics he thought. He leapt towards the bonnet of a car and raced along its edge, the now familiar blue auras shining beneath his toes. He smiled in appreciation at his family's skills. But again there was a loud bang and a burst of electric energy soared over his head, colliding with the bonnet of a neighbouring car and sending an explosion of flame erupting from the engine. Knocked from his perch, Sly tumbled onto the concrete with a jarring thud. His head reeling, he quickly flipped up and resumed running.

His vision almost blurring, Sly kept his eyes fixed on the van in front of him. He was determined to reach it. He sprinted under wooden barriers and soared over more vehicles under a continual hail fire of energy. More flames leapt into the air and tearing sounds rent the night. Behind Sly, a misfired shot sent another car reeling into the air and crashing to earth again with a spurt of fire. He leapt again as more blue auras appeared over a wooden barrier and his toes flipped lightly and landed on them. He sped across it and rolled over the boot of another car as another shot smacked into the ground at his feet and a wave of electricity swept across it. Then he looked up again and finally the open doors of the van loomed over him and he dived for them.

As Sly leapt he saw Bentley reaching out his hand, ready to grab his and pull him into the van. Sly smiled appreciatively and grabbed it.  
"About time you got here," said Bentley, "Appears as if Carmelita finally showed up. Come on. Murray's got the engine warmed up and idling. Let's go!"  
"Yeah, I think that's a good idea pal," said Sly, "Let's get out of here. I hope Carmelita doesn't feel too badly. She's not really a bad person to have around."  
"Oh I'm sure we'll see Carmelita again Sly, don't worry about that," said Bentley, "I expect she'll never be far behind." With this sentence, Bentley heaved Sly into the van and the doors swung shut with a soft click.

"To the Korsakov - Krakow - Krakov Volcano and back," stuttered Bentley enthusiastically. His glasses slid down to lie lopsided on his nose.

"What volcano Bentley?" asked Sly. Bentley stared fleetingly and then came to again.

"Oh, it's just something important for our next mission," said Bentley. "I'll explain it back at the hideout Sly." Bentley pushed his glasses back onto his face.

"Alright Bentley," said Sly understandingly – but curiously. "Hit the gas Murray!"

Murray hit the accelerator and the van's engine roared to life. Smoke spluttered from the exhaust and the tires found traction on the road beneath them. The van roared again and pulled away from under the arch, finally taking off down the narrow cobbled street. It bounced slightly as it hit a lump in the cobblestones and more energy glanced off the flank from Carmelita's pistol. More fire bounced away from the rear doors. It barrelled into a newspaper stand, sending copies of the Evening Gazette flying everywhere.

Then the van was forced to mount the pavement, scaring several pigeons into flight. They skimmed by a dainty cafe, sending chairs and tables flying. Both Sly and Bentley hollered in shock, so that Murray grasped the wheel, attempting to steer back on course. Blue-clad officers burst out of an Italian restaurant across the street and the van made a full three-eighty spin to avoid hitting them. The team breathed a sigh of relief before the van shot through a display standing outside a fashion boutique. Activating the windscreen wipers, the latest haute couture was flung over them in a snow of multicoloured cloth. Sly briefly caught a glimpse of a noir evening gown that would have suited Carmelita, but it was gone in a moment. He made a mental note to ask to borrow some money from Bentley's savings.

"No, my donuts," bawled Murray, as a box of them hurled itself across the windscreen: Bentley was pelted with cinnamon and jam pastries - "Another trip to the patisserie then."

Suddenly three police cars shot out of an alleyway and slid into their path, tires screeching. Murray seized the wheel and swung the van back into a straight line and they turned a corner of the road, narrowly missing a lamp post. Again Murray swung the wheel in a wide arc and the van skidded along the uneven surface. Sparks flew as the van accelerated and disappeared down the narrow avenue. Sirens were beginning to sound off in the distance as they sped away. Sly turned his head just in time to see Interpol headquarters and the enraged Carmelita disappear into the night. He pricked his ears up as they disappeared and he thought he could hear Carmelita pierce the night with a final sentence:

"I'll find you again raccoon: you can't escape from me Cooper!"

**This is Chapter 2 of 3 in Part 1.**


	4. Chapter 3 - A Fractured Legacy

**Chapter Three: A Fractured Legacy.**

The van sped down the silent streets of Paris. Night was moving on and as Murray swung the steering wheel to the right again Sly could just see the first rays of dawn emerging on the horizon. The vague pinkish glow sent ripples of light streaming across the sky and it bathed the buildings in a veil of colour. The picture it made was quite blissful and as Sly looked, he felt relaxed after the intense happenings that had occurred in the last hour. Even though he had felt almost apologetic to leave Carmelita behind, seeming quite broken up about it to, he was appreciative of his narrow escape.

As he thought this he groaned and looked down at his shoulder. A small patch of the blue tunic had been scraped away by the collapsed fire escape and a slightly red-raw patch of skin had appeared. It stung slightly as he touched it. Still he thought; it could have been much worse. After all he had only been in the hands of Carmelita. As he groaned however, Bentley glanced back in concern at his friend's injury.  
**  
**"You all right Sly?" asked Bentley worriedly, "That welt looks quite nasty; perhaps I should attend to it." He made a hand gesture towards it as he spoke.  
**  
**"Nah, I'm alright Bentley," said Sly, "It is only a small scrape; it should heal quite quickly. Besides it is sort of like a souvenir of my outing with the inspector." He gave a devilish grin to his friend as he said it.  
**  
**"Ah yeah, right," Bentley said in a suspicious manner, "Well if you're sure it's all good that's all right with me. Just take care of yourself."  
**  
**"Simmer down Bentley," said Sly, "I got the file after all. We achieved our goal and barely came out scathed. A rather successful mission wouldn't you say?"  
**  
**"Okay you're right," said Bentley apologetically, "I guess I'm just over cautious. And you are right, we got the file." He too then returned Sly's earlier smile in tired appreciation.  
**  
**As they talked, Murray turned his head and twisted towards the back seat, resting his elbow on the tattered leather backing of the driver's seat. Sly and Bentley both turned to him as he seemed about to speak.  
**  
**"Don't worry Bentley, it pays to be cautious; it gets Sly safely through the missions remember?" He coughed slightly and quickly jerked the wheel before turning back again. "Besides as a team member I value both of you equally. Sly gives stealth and agility to the team while you, Bentley give us the brains and technology. We can take care of each other quite easily." He grinned good-naturedly at his friends as he finished speaking. They both stared back at Murray before they smiled too.  
**  
** "Thanks a lot Murray," they both said, "You're also always a great value to the team. We value you as much for your qualities of strength and endurance. After all, what is a team of thieves like the Cooper gang without some brawn? Together we make a good group."  
**  
**"Yes," said Sly, "Friendship gets us through; what would we be without it."  
**  
** As Sly finished the conversation, Murray and Bentley both looked at each other and nodded in an agreeing way. Cleary they all agreed on that value. Everyone exchanged smiles again before turning back to their previous vigils. Murray hugged the wheel tightly and Bentley sat back against his computer desk propped against the wall of the van. Sly also sat back and relaxed on the flatbed. He sighed with satisfaction. As he sat back, one more thought came to his mind. Lifting the file from his pack a second time, Sly reached forward and tapped Murray on the shoulder.  
**  
** "Let's try and get back to the hideout quickly hey pal," Sly said encouragingly, "Then we can crack this file open. Now that it's in our hands, I'm looking forward to continuing my family's noble line of thievery."  
**  
** "Sure thing Sly," Murray said in reply, "I'll get us back to the hideout in no time. Just a few more blocks and we should be there."  
**  
** The sun was now rising over the sky line and a golden light swept over the Parisian streets. The first lights of the night were being turned off and the usual hubbub of the workday was beginning. In the back streets the team van sped down another narrow alleyway before turning towards the railway yard and barrelling besides a set of tracks towards an old railway carriage resting in a rusty siding. The van coughed and the exhaust puffed a cloud of soot before it ground to a halt beside the carriage. There were a few clanking sounds and then Sly, Bentley and Murray hopped front the back doors of the van as they swung open. Together they strolled towards the rear of the carriage and strode up a set of strangely new looking metal stairs before twisting the handle on the door and swinging the wooden surface in a wide arc. If the aged look of the carriage on the exterior gave any wrong impressions, it was nothing compared with the interior.  
**  
** As the team strolled into the mahogany and decidedly period interior of the carriage, it could be seen that it was not filled with velvet seats and compartments as a normal carriage, but was instead lined with computers, pin boards and other various technology and modern upholstery. At the end through which they stepped was a series of pin boards and a small clock and compass system. On either side of the carriage sat a series of carved wooden plaques adorned each with a world map and certain items of different nationalities. On each map there had been a small series of tacks pinned up and stars placed, marking various locales. Notes and markings appeared intermittently.

Also above each placard sat an effigy of a character. On the first sat a squatting, frog like creature, the second a hulking bull dog, the third a venomous looking crocodile, the fourth a muscled panda and, last of all, a hateful looking sculpture of a cruel eyed owl, which was set in steel. Sly shivered in with nerves, anger and hate as he looked at the five characters. He had seen them once before, in the flesh and he knew who they represented; a gang of villainous criminals known only as the Fiendish Five. Even at that one encounter he had barely glimpsed their faces.  
**  
** Sly stood staring into the eyes of the characters for a few seconds before Murray tapped his shoulder to see if he was okay. Sly mumbled a few words to his friends and then walked towards the rear end of the room. Even as he passed the plaques he could not help but continue to keep his gaze trained on the eyes of the owl sculpture. He had only once seen the chilling eyes before and that had been just after his father had been killed. He barely knew anything about the cold hearted being that possessed them except that when those eyes appeared the room went cold. He shivered a final time before turning his gaze from the sculpture.  
**  
** Finally pushing the thoughts out of his mind, Sly turned to the end most quarter of the carriage. In this section sat a complicated computer system that was rigged up against the wall and a series of panels allowed an inspection of all the workings. Before the system sat a thick desk made entirely of wood that had a steel plate bolted to the front and top of its surface. Behind the desk sat a battered and well worn looking office chair on wheels and on the surface of the desk lay a master computer, a handful of dividers, a desk lamp and a scattering of various stationery items. As if to complete the picture, a wire waste paper basket sat by the desk which was half filled with scrunched up papers. The whole setup looked somewhat like the office of a nutty professor. Beyond the desk the only objects were a steel door leading to the sleeping, bathroom and kitchen area and a set of glass windows enclosed by red curtains. It may have been unusual, but it was the hideout of the Cooper gang.  
**  
**Bentley and Murray walked up beside Sly and for a moment the three them were framed together; as if in a form of picture. Momentarily it gave a look of heroism to the three and the light shone between them. The image was broken suddenly however by Bentley who coughed and proceeded to make his way around the desk and plonk himself on the chair behind it. Murray sat heavily on a stool to Bentley's left and Sly, finding nowhere else at the present, sat on a crate containing computer fragments and assorted hardware for tinkering with.

Instantly after they sat, Murray slipped from his back pocket a rather squashed hot dog and then from a draw in a nearby cabinet a soft drink cup, which he appeared to have kept for just such an occasion. He began tucking into the hot dog with gulping bites. Bentley, after straightening his tie and pushing his glasses up his nose, coughed again and tried to speak. But he was cut off as Murray belched and accidently sent a globule of saliva onto his friends head. Rubbing his head in slight disgust and buffing his knuckles against his collar, Bentley began to speak again, but not before smiling back in answer to a conciliatory look from Murray.  
**  
** "Ah yes team," Bentley said, addressing the room at large, "Another successful heist. Now that we have Carmelita's scoop on Sly secured, we can move onto the bigger fish. And we all know what that is; tackling the Fiendish Five."  
**  
**"Ah - yum - oh yes," butted in Murray, in an effort to contribute to the conversation.  
**  
**"Yes that's right," said Sly, suddenly becoming interested and waving the file above his head, which he had taken from his pack. "Those fiends have it coming. We're not going to sit around while they gloat; we're going to do something about it. I'm still after that thieving villain Clockwerk for killing my father!" Sly finished his sentence with a note of conviction and defiance. His sudden flare in mood drew sympathetic looks from Bentley and Murray.  
**  
**"Ah yeah, that's right," said Murray as he finally managed to swallow a huge hunk of hotdog, "That pack of lunatics - let me get at them. I'll punch them until they've gone black and blue. Let's go and get them!" Murray punctuated his boisterous speech with a punch to the air and he fell backwards off his stool. **  
** "A-hem, yes Murray," said Bentley cordially, "That is the eventual plan, but first there are preparations to make. After the killings at Sly's home we only know that those fiends have spread to the four corners of the earth. They could be anywhere now and stronger than ever. We cannot go running all over the place or they'll be onto us. We shall have to handle this very carefully."

"Yes Bentley," said Sly, "But all the same, we should get moving. You know now that Carmelita will be hot on our tail since the Interpol job." He paused momentarily. "That will be another thing to deal with and you know how persistent Carmelita will be. She's always been keen on capturing the notorious Cooper gang and I bet she's not about to give up now."

The slightly smitten expression appeared on his face as he finished.

"Ah yes, I forget that point: I guess you're right," said Bentley in a flustered manner, "But still, that allows for some planning. I will not have those villains add another Cooper to their list. You know too well that Clockwerk has dogged your family for years and your name will not be attributed to his list; I will not have it." He paused for breath. "Another thing is that we hardly know anything about this Clockwerk. He has never appeared by name in any records I have perused. For all practical purposes he would seem to be anonymous. Who knows if he even is part of the original five that attacked your home? As far as I know he might have founded the group but they all report to one called 'The Master'."

Sly felt touched at Bentley's concern and as such he thought it appropriate to speak. He thought fleetingly of the mysterious deaths that had plagued the Cooper bloodline even before Clockwerk's time. There was something he was missing – something making the bigger picture. A presence stirred in his heart: a darkness and cold awakening once more.

"I feel gladdened at your concern Bentley," said Sly gently, "But we'll have to take risks to bring these thugs down; after all they are a ruthless bunch. We must not underestimate them." Then he allowed himself to return to his affectionate thoughts of Carmelita.

"Aw, don't' mind that Sly," said Murray, slurping some drink from his cup, "Just call me in if they try and harm a hair on your head and I'll punch them. They won't be able to stand the awesome might of my muscle. They won't know what hit them; if they invoke the wrath of The Murray!"

"Yes Murray, thanks for the comfort," Bentley muttered slightly disapprovingly, "But, muscle doesn't solve all problems; we have to have backup." He was answered with a series of slurping noises.

"As I always say," said Sly, "Keep an open mind when completing a job; it always gets it done most effectively. I'm sure that together, all our skills will be enough to take that gang down. I will make my father proud." He ignored the cold he felt, making it dissolve away.

All three of them swapped grim looks with each other at these words and sighed slightly. The job that now lay in front of them seemed quite tremendous. Not only did they have to take down five of the world's most deadly crime lords, but also regain Sly's family legacy. Now there was even the extra problem of having inspector Fox on their heels constantly. The prospect seemed bleak. But even as that thought crossed their minds, they hardened their resolves and sat back up to face each other.

"Well I guess that is that," said Murray in a grunting fashion, "We work together and achieve our goal. Just as the great thieving legacy of the Cooper family before us. We better get to it then."

"Yes pal," Sly said, "We better get onto it right away. Those fiends already have sixteen years head start on us and they have the upper hand. It's time to get that plan into gear."

"Precisely Sly," said Bentley in an assertive fashion, "That is why I have already set up the action plan. I was just waiting for the appropriate moment after the Interpol job to get it going. Now that we have all necessary, my plan can begin."

Sly brightened at Bentley's last words and his ears pricked up. He spoke just as Murray gulped an extra large mouthful of soft drink and choked. Turning back to Bentley as Murray coughed, Sly spoke.

"Why you read my mind before I said it," Sly said, feeling slightly amazed, "Well that does explain the notice boards on the walls. Each board represents a member of the five?"

"Yes that is correct," said Bentley with pride, "Long into the hours of the night have I been working on those noticeboards and finally I have it. Each map marks the current location of a member of the Fiendish Five. Using those directions we can track down those thugs and reclaim what is rightfully yours Sly."

Returning Bentley's look of pride, Sly swept his gaze around the walls of the carriage and eyed the noticeboards. He now noted the clever way in which Bentley had used cartography to mark the maps and how the items scattered beneath them were appropriate. Where he could see the first map marked 'Wales', he could see a small selection of appropriate artefacts to the region. The same could be said for all the other maps. The other four maps listed locales as exotic as Utah, Haiti, the Kunlun Mountains and the Krakov volcano on the Svalbard Islands. Maps of Norway and Russia were both pinned to the board. Apparently the final member of the five operated out of Russia, with a major base in Norway.

Sly was deeply impressed at his friend's preparation. Clearly while he and Murray had slept, Bentley had been planning the maps for months; just looking at the interior of the room made him know that the Cooper family was in safe hands. The Fiendish Five were going to get a shock. Sly narrowed his eyes at the owl sculpture that he now recognised fully as Clockwerk and hitched a brave expression onto his face. That fiend would pay.

"Well gang," said Bentley in an effort to regain Sly's attention, "Let's get back onto the plan tonight, we need to rest, especially you Sly. I will relate the schedule completely at tonight's briefing and then we shall get into action. I promise you that Sly; those villains will be getting their just desserts. But time to rest. I'll see you both tonight."

Bentley yawned and he clambered from his chair. Waving to sly and Murray he made for the door at the rear of the room. Swinging it wide he turned and waved for the others to follow. Murray, having finally finished his snack, rolled onto his haunches and Sly sprung onto his feet. As they all walked through the door, they exchanged last minute greetings.

"See you tonight mates," said Murray, yawning, "Sleep well both of you."

"Okay buddy," said Sly grinning, "See you tonight too."

"I'll see you both tonight as well," said Bentley indignantly, "After I have a soothing nap", he added as an afterthought.

"Yeah, okay Bentley," said Sly, conceding, "I'm looking forward to your briefing tonight. Time for some well earned rest." And with that final sentiment, the three friends marched through the door and snubbed it behind them.

Sly lay awake in his bed that afternoon. Beside him, Murray and Bentley dosed fitfully in their own beds and Murray snored loudly. Bentley gave a delicate murmur and rolled onto his side. Sly turned away from his sleeping friends and returned to the patch of ceiling he had been scrutinising for the past half hour. He thought deeply and as he remembered his musings, he felt himself drift away from the room. He seemed to float above his own body and then, as if delving into his own memory, he soared towards his own face and through his own eyes. A searing tongue of light bolted across his vision and as he entered his own thoughts, Sly found himself sitting on his father's lap sixteen years earlier. As the dream became more vivid, Sly began to recount the events of those many years before.

He remembered clearly now. He had been only five years old at the time he had been bouncing on his father's lap, his father telling him he would one day inherit the noble skills of the Cooper thieves. He remembered that had been when he had first learned what he was destined to become. His family had been a series of master thieves that had always robbed powerful villains and crime lords. They had never been a low down family who stole from the average person or the poor. After all as his father had told him, there was no honour, no challenge, and no fun in stealing from an innocent person. Besting the masters and those who really deserved it was what made the Cooper thieves great.

This had always been a time honoured code, and the blood line would always follow that rule. Neither was a true Cooper ever caught unintentionally. Sly remembered promising to his father at the time that he would never break that code. He was proud to say that he had always kept that promise. That promise meant much to him. It reminded him of his dead father. He knew when he could someday join the noble line as his own thieving entity; he would aspire to and possibly pass the greatness of the Coopers. Then one night that had all changed.

On the terrible night that the remainder of the Cooper line had been torn apart, Sly had been about to receive the greatest treasure they had ever created. The treasure had been an ancient tome known as 'The Thievious Raccoonus' which was a centuries old book created by the Cooper clan and it detailed every single thieving move and daring skill ever created in the long history of the Cooper family. It was an endless compendium and repository of thieving knowledge that had enabled the generations of Cooper's to pass down their unique know-how of thievery to continue the legacy.

Sly knew that anyone who read the book could become a master thief from the thousands of skills detailed within. As his father before him, Sly knew that that had been the night he was to finally learn those sacred skills and take his place as a testament to the Cooper line; even to write his own entry into the great book. But his destiny to join his family had been torn away from him that very night and the legacy of the Coopers shattered.

The Coopers had long known that there were those who were jealous of their thieving skills and strived to destroy them. One such enemy in recent years had been the Fiendish Five. That night had been the night that Clockwerk, a horrific lord of crime and deceit, had finally led the vicious gang right to the Cooper family and thus sought to strike at the heart of the legacy; forever destroying it. Clockwerk, that malicious and mysterious, unknown entity: Sly's memories shivered and became clearer as he remembered further.

That night, five unannounced visitors had come to the door. Sly remembered his father's yell at him to run and hide for his own safety. He remembered the five fiends breaking down the door and smashing their way through the house. Unarmed, his father had fought bravely to stop the fiends but he had been killed. Sly also remembered hiding in the cupboard at the time, cringing and crying as he watched his father fall at the hands of the thugs. His lifeless body on the floor, kicked aside as the fiends ransacked the whole place. Sly had been the sole survivor and with him he had carried the Cooper cane, the relic which symbolised any Cooper. The cane with which he had pulled every job he, Bentley and Murray had ever completed since that fateful day. It was also a reminder of his father.

Then the villains had committed the final act through which they had intended to destroy the Coopers. They ransacked the house until they found the vault in which was stored The Thievious Raccoonus. Seizing the sacred tome all had swept it from the house and far from Sly's lone reach. He could have done nothing to stop them. On his own he had been powerless against them. They had torn the book into five sections and each villain had stolen a part of it. Disappearing to the four corners of the world, the book had disappeared along with the villains and fallen into obscurity. But that wasn't the only thing that had fallen. That same night the Cooper legacy of thieves had fallen and with the book, all the timeless knowledge rubbed out as if it had never existed. With the remaining Coopers apparently killed, though by who or how he didn't know, Sly had been left at an orphanage to live out his childhood - fatherless.

It was there that he had first met Bentley and Murray who from then on been his lifelong friends. He still remembered the times they had spent at the orphanage, concocting child-like plans to steal the biscuits and sweets in the kitchen. Their nightly jaunts through the corridors and the times they spent huddled under blankets with torches. That seemed so long ago now.

Bentley had been the brains of the outfit with his glasses, smarts and rapier wit. Murray had always been the muscle and brawn of the group, bringing what neither Sly nor Bentley had in muscle. Sly still remembered him eating the crayons Bentley used to draw their plans. And then there had been Sly himself; the charm, agility and guile of the group. An outsider, somewhat like Bentley and Murray - both of them left parentless and lonely. That special connection had bonded them. Together, at that orphanage, they had created their own family. That had been when Sly's life had finally turned around.

When they had all turned old enough they had left the orphanage and started the Cooper gang. Each of them promised to bring his talents to the group and together continue the noble traditions of the Cooper family. From then on it had been jobs and heist, leading an almost luxurious life, always on the run from authorities. Over the years they had collected treasures such as the team van which Murray loved and other various technologies with which Bentley carried out various schemes.

Finally they had become known as the infamous Cooper gang; always on the run and never getting caught. Sly himself had become quite a prominent figure in police files around the world and especially in France, his birth place. Carmelita had attributed to that. Then it had moved on to the later years and Sly had finally again thought of the long lost Thievious Raccoonus. His mind boiled to think of the unrighteous fiends with their filthy hands upon it.

It had secretly been his ambition to finally restore his family's book and once again rekindle the smothered fire of his legacy. Although the Fiendish Five had long since disappeared into the world, he knew that one day it was his destiny to restore the book. It was like a thread tugging at him. Despite the interventions attempted by Clockwerk Sly knew that his destiny was what he made it. The book had rightfully been his and should have passed into his hands.  
The Fiendish Five had no right to lay their grubby hands on it and they knew it.

The Cooper family had meant to pass its skills through the years and Sly was not about to let that be destroyed. Someday he was certain he would still be able to write his own ventures into the book. He would not let his destiny be taken from him. It was his actions that would now determine the fate of his family. The Coopers were in his hands. He would either become a master thief or let the legend of his family name bite the dust.

It was for that reason that Sly had wanted a crack at the five for many years and his chance had finally come. He knew that his father would have wanted it. He knew that the legacy was meant to be continued. And he would not let that dyeing wish be broken. His legacy had been broken, but it was not destroyed. The Coopers would rise again and one day goes down in history as the greatest thieves of the age. And Sly had also kept a small place in his memory for his father's one other wish. He had never broken the Cooper code of honour and no matter what challenges were ahead of him to reclaim the legacy, it would remain as so. Clockwerk had failed to destroy the Coopers: the bloodline had been but fractured.

Silently Sly pledged that together he, Bentley and Murray would honourably restore the glory of the Coopers. He and his friends would finally destroy the menace of Clockwerk, the symbol of darkness and hate and bring justice and honour once more to the world. Finally he would return the Thievious Raccoonus to its former glory and the Cooper legacy would be reborn. Sly was set and ready now. He need not delay any longer. He knew already what he had to face. And beside him all the way would be his friends Bentley and Murray. Maybe there was still room in the great book for two more thieves. He would accept his destiny.

The first rays of night shone through the blinds of the train carriage. The stars twinkled like drops in the sky and their gentle light bathed the room in a cool glow. Sly awoke from his turbulent slumber to find Bentley and Murray already dressed in their gear and standing by his bed, ready for action.

"You had a good rest Sly?" Bentley sounded concerned as he spoke. "You'll need your strength after all. It's going to be a big job."

"Yeah, I slept pretty nice thanks pal," Sly murmured in reply "I should be well rested for the briefing. Let's get cracking."

He rubbed his eyes and hopped lightly from the mattress. The threesome strolled back towards the door to the first carriage and swung the handle. Together they stepped over the threshold of the study and into the room. Bentley once again mounted himself behind his desk and Murray perched himself on a lumpy sofa that Bentley had drawn out for the occasion. Sly sat beside Murray and they settled in to listen. Bentley rolled out a miniature version of the first map, the one emblazoned with frog effigy. He pointed towards a spot he had marked and spoke.

"Wales," he said simply, "That is our first target and for good reason. It is currently the closest hiding place of the first member of the Fiendish Five; Sir Raleigh the frog. I believe Sly that he is in possession of one of the missing sections to the Thievious Raccoonus. For this reason he must be taken down along with the rest."

"Yes, I would have to agree," said Sly, "After all I have as much a goal to set with Raleigh than any other member of that gang, especially Clockwerk. He won't know what's coming"

"Yeah, fists and fury," bellowed Murray excitedly, "This is where the fun begins. Let's do this thing. I'm all for it." He hopped up and down happily on his seat and several feathers went flying.

"Quite so Murray," said Bentley, "You'll get your chance to swing a few fists at some thugs. But for now it is Raleigh first and foremost. Get to him and we are one step closer to restoring the Thievious Raccoonus."

"And restoring my family legacy," said Sly with conviction, "The Fiendish Five and Raleigh included will feel the full might of the skill they are dealing with."  
"Yes that is true also," said Bentley, "They will feel what they are dealing with. It is essential they know the Coopers will be here to stay this time. Never again will the legacy will be fractured."

A glow seemed to shine from Bentley as he spoke and Sly was awed at his friend's dedication to their cause. He grinned in happiness at having two such reliant and faithful companions. He knew he was lucky and he should count himself so. And he did count himself so; for it was the three of them that were about to end the reign of the villainous thugs. Together, as his father before him, Sly would bring down the Fiendish five and earn his rightful place in the Cooper legacy. He knew that now was the time and he was about to restore his destiny. It would be challenging and even fun. He knew along the way he would learn new skills and perhaps even become a master thief himself. As his relatives before him, he would lend his own taste to the Coopers. It was time to become the master thief he was destined to be.

"After all those years at the orphanage," said Sly, "We are at last to achieve a goal worthy of the Cooper name." He felt his chest swell with pride. "We shall equal the original Cooper gang and uphold their legacy, the legacy of my father's gang."

"As long as you don't let any feelings for Carmelita get in the way," Bentley teased, "But I know you can control your inner gentlemen Sly. I know just how much of a ladies' man you are."

"Why Bentley," said Sly in mock outrage, "I'm surprised at you: normally so gentlemen like yourself. And anyway, I think I can eschew my feelings for Carmelita, Miss Gorgeous that is, long enough to complete this mission."

"Of course you can Sly," said Murray, "While still retaining the gentleman you are I should think. It is undoubtedly true that the Inspector finds charm in you in the same way."

"Why thankyou my friend," said Sly, pretending to speak with a posh accent, "I am glad you think so." Murray laughed loudly with amusement.

"Alright, we have had our fun," said Bentley, "Now we have to get serious. If you wish to uphold your father's legacy we need to be strategic." He stooped momentarily to think, but then he reached into a draw and removed three glasses. He filled each from a bottle of lemon-lime resting on the desk. "But I do think a toast is in order: to Sly's father and the return of the Cooper bloodline." He handed each glass around.

"I'll drink to that," said Murray, "Nothing more worthy to do so for." He gulped down half of the fizzy, pink soft-drink in one go and expelled another explosion of air.

"A decent contribution Murray," Sly said, struggling not to laugh, "To dad."

"Connor Cooper," they all said. Each raised his glass once in the air, before lowering it again and taking a sip.

Sly glanced around at his two best friends. The two friends he had had for most of his childhood and now all of his teens and into early adulthood. Together they had time and again bested old Miss Puffin, grouchy owner of the orphanage, before they had come out into the world. All of this had happened with the three of them, together. Both Bentley and Murray were worthy friends and more so; he was truly lucky to be their friend. He was lucky he could be worthy as they were. And what of Carmelita - what story had she to tell?

How had she grown up from childhood? There was definitely a lot about her Sly didn't know. In fact, he hardly knew very much at all. He hoped that someday, in the course of this adventure, he would be fortunate enough to find out her past. Maybe, just maybe, it could work. And maybe, just maybe, there was room for Carmelita to slip in beside him. He could not deny that he desired her presence more than ever now. She would be part of this adventure. The tables were set: the dice was rolling. Watch out Clockwerk and the Fiendish Five, he thought, the Cooper gang is coming!

Outside the carriage, hidden by the shadow of some large rolling stock, a lone figure crouched. One could just see the right side of his face. He wore glasses on a pointed, beak-like noise and had a fringe of greying hair. He was going bald. He wore what looked like a Michel Rouen tie about his neck. Clutched in his hand was a bizarre looking radio receiver. He turned it on. The device hummed and crackled quietly. Glancing once more at the carriage opposite his hiding place, the figure spoke into the receiver.

"I have found him," whispered the figure, "I have tracked him along with the two others to railway yards just outside of Paris."

"Your son?" questioned the other voice, "Do you intercept now?"

"No, not yet," replied the figure hesitantly, "Now is not the time. I think it is best for me to continue trailing the Cooper gang for now but not to interfere."

"As you instruct," complied the other voice, "What is the next move?"

"I have listened in on their conversation and I believe they are headed for Wales first," he said. "I will follow them there. But I need some transport."

"Wales," the other voice said sharply, "You mean where Sir Raleigh is hiding out. I fear it may be dangerous to enter the Welsh Triangle alone."

"I must," spoke the figure firmly, "They are in grave danger, especially my son: if my device is to fall into the wrong hands, who knows what will happen."

"Stringer will be stopped," said the other voice, "He must be stopped - the Vortex is too dangerous to be left unnoticed. If Stringer succeeds in his alliance with The Master, the world will be in mortal danger."

"As well as my son," said the figure, "While he continues this mission he could be used as leverage against us. I cannot let that happen."

"Of course you cannot," replied the other voice, "It will not. But we must secure The Spear-Head or we risk total annihilation. The device is not yet complete but Stringer has already supplied what components he can to the five. You must aid The Cooper Gang in getting these back before it's too late."

"It will be done," said the figure, "My own invention will not endanger the world. I must rescue my son and ensure the safety of his friends. I will conceal the remaining segments of my device from Stringer's prying eyes and hands. I have my mission."

"Okay then," said the voice, "You must go ahead as you see fit. Do whatever necessary but do not compromise your secrecy. Do not use violence or force. This mission must stay covert." The radio crackled with static.

"I understand," whispered the figure, "I will contact you again when I am in Wales. For now, all our fates are intertwined - Agent Reptile signing out." The radio was switched off and tucked into a pocket. With a brief glance back towards the carriage, the figure vanished.

**This is Chapter 3 of 3 in Part 1.  
The story continues in Part 2: A Tide of Terror.  
I hope you enjoyed this part and will read more of the story - it's getting quite long now. Enjoy!**


	5. Chapter 4 - Under The Rain

**Part Two: A Tide of Terror.**

**Chapter Four: Under the Rain.**

**Paris, France: 5:37 AM.**

Carmelita stood atop the cobblestone wall of the Interpol car park. Although Cooper had disappeared beyond the arch to the concrete lot an hour ago, she still stood there, staring after him. Finally she shook her head and turned to the wreckage of the vehicles behind her. The area was quite a mess with a scattering of twisted metal and crumbled cobblestones. About ten minutes after Cooper's flight, there had been the sound of several sirens and a handful of Interpol vehicles had torn over the road, their tires screeching, and had barrelled into the car park. Several officers had piled out and upon seeing Carmelita perched upon the wall, began firing questions at her. She had been only too happy to comply.

Upon discovering the flight of Sly, the officers had sprung up and raced around the scene in a frenzy of activity. An Interpol truck had pushed its way into the car park and several more officers had piled out. They had lugged with them a series of heavy equipment and immediately began combing the area. Several more offices had then scooped up magnifying glasses and tool boxes and proceeded to fiddle with the fused engines of the smashed cars and examine the bonnets for foot prints. They also used small brushes to dust of the fragments of rubble.

This reaction was commonly caused as Sly Cooper had never been caught. Worldwide, he had always escaped the law and Interpol were well aware of it. Carmelita herself was frustrated at Cooper's escape. She had nearly had him in her grasp. It would have meant so much to Interpol – so much for her carrier. Still she though, there was always another day. Lost in her thoughts, Carmelita did not notice the officer come up behind her.

"Ah inspector Mademoiselle," said the officer nervously, also in a vague French accent. "A word, if you please." The noticeable British twang to his French caught her attention.

Carmelita twitched slightly and she turned around to face the officer standing in the car park below her. It was a Labrador. She knew that this was Sergeant Higgins; the head of the detection department. She noted his slightly sweaty face and the nervous tug at his shirt collar. Cleary he seemed slightly uncomfortable at being in the presence of his superior. As such, she decided to expel his discomfort. Leaping lightly from the wall, she pounced lightly from the bonnet of a car and landed gently at his feet. Pushing herself up and brushing some rubble dust off her vest, Carmelita spoke.

"Yes Sergeant, what is it you would like to enquire?" she said encouragingly. Then as if to bolster him to speak, she said, "Please don't feel daunted Higgins, I was only in thinking to myself. I would like to hear what you have to say."

"Ah – well – yes - right," said Higgins, trying to regain his train of thought, "We have discovered a minor hitch in proceedings. After an extensive search of the area and the building, we have discovered something missing. That is to say the file that was in your vault Mademoiselle is ah, missing." He smiled slightly ashamedly at her and hung his head. Carmelita however did not seem annoyed. On the contrary, she grinned at the news and passed a reassuring look in the sergeant's direction.

"Fear not Higgins," said Carmelita, "I expected as much. Cooper was sure to come after those papers some time or another. It was only a matter of waiting."

"Oh well, I suppose so," said Higgins, "I guess that's all then inspector. Nothing else was missing. In fact, everything else other than the file seemed to be in comparative neatness and order. The only real mess was caused here, when you tried to stop Cooper escaping."

Carmelita nodded, as if affirming her thoughts and gave her reply. "That would fit Cooper's style Higgins," said Carmelita in a rather unsurprised manner, "He always did like to think of himself as a gentleman; especially where I am concerned I believe."

The Sergeant nodded with a seemingly thoughtful full look in his eye. He adjusted his belt over his dark blue trousers before answering. "Well Inspector," he said, apparently feeling uncertain, "I guess you would have Cooper squared on that one. After all you have spent the last few months on his trail. Still, he has managed to always keep that one step ahead of us. Even being a gentleman he is still a thief." He coughed slightly as he jangled a pair of hand cuffs at his belt before adding, "Remember you can't let Cooper cloud your judgement. No matter what his feelings for you, he is a thief before and after. As one of the world's foremost law enforcers, Interpol is dedicated to the eradication of crime."

"Yes, thank you for the clarification." said Carmelita in a crisp snap, "I assure you Sergeant that Cooper's feelings are of none of my concern. No matter what Cooper feels for me, I remain loyal to our cause. Have no uncertainty I assure you; Interpol will one day capture Sly Cooper at my hands."

"Very good then mademoiselle," said Higgins, "I m glad that Cooper has no impact on your actions; now, down to business. The inspection boys and I have agreed that it is time that Cooper should be returned to justice. I feel that the best way to eventually capture him is to have him trailed. I also believe that, as we agreed, you would be best for that job. You have the best knowledge of Cooper's movements. I assure you too that there would be many honours involved if Cooper were captured. As told to me by Inspector Barkley in person."

"Thank you Higgins," said Carmelita, "But I need no medal for the capture of Sly Cooper; it would personally be a tribute to capture him myself. After all, I am already ready for it. I believe I know Cooper's next move. He is heading for Whales. I am sure that he is going after that other gang of criminals we have been trailing; the Fiendish Five. I am ready to make Barkley proud and prove I am a worthy successor to the department."

Higgins gulped and gave a nervous look towards the officers lingering about the area. Turning back again, he spoke at last. "Yes, though I suppose that is not necessarily comforting, after all the Fiendish Five are even more sticky customers, even more so than Cooper. In fact, that bunch of hooligans makes him look quite the gentleman. If that is so, you will have rather a hand full in collecting Cooper. I am ready to provide any back up you might need."

His heart quickening, love hearts seemed to bloom in the air about him.

"Thank you for the concern Higgins," said Carmelita gratefully," That would be appreciated. But I am sure it will be another notch on both belts if Interpol also takes out the Fiendish Five. They area also as infamous as Cooper in the few years they have ruled the underworld. But like Cooper, they will not long escape the reach of the law."

Higgins gazed for a moment at Carmelita, as if in apparent awe of her confidence. Then pulling himself together, he replied. The love hearts popped promptly.

"I am glad you are so confident Mademoiselle," he said, sounding relived, "I am sure that the Cooper and now The Fiendish Five case will be in safe and capable hands. Please feel free to commence as soon as you feel ready. The team and I will be standing by with back up. I too am intent upon doing whatever I can to uphold the law – as is my sister." He gave Carmelita a final look and straightened up. But just as he was about to turn and go, Carmelita decided she should speak.

"Thank you for the support Higgins," she said in a meaningful way, "I will set out after Cooper as soon as everything is in order here. And do not worry; I am sure the Fiendish Five will be in our hands soon, you can count on that. I promise it. So long Sergeant, and good luck." Carmelita raised her right hand in a form of salute as a final greeting.

Higgins bowed low and upon standing up again, touched his cap in a formal manner before turning back towards the car park and marching smartly through the inspection. Carmelita briefly looked after him before turning towards the gaping exit of the parking lot.

She knew what lay ahead of her - perhaps the most difficult task she had faced in her life. Like Cooper, she somehow suspected they were both on a journey; a journey that meant more than retribution to both. Even though she had said she cared not for Cooper to Higgins, she also knew a part of her had been lying. She did care about the raccoon. Even with all his guile and devilish charm, she couldn't help feeling something for him as he undeniably did for her. There had always been that strange, almost romantic connection between them. What Cooper had said in the car park had gone to her heart. She had opened a gradually widening door to him and he had slipped inside. Somehow she knew that, no matter how opposite they seemed, somehow they seemed meant to be together.

She shook herself. There was also one other idea that somehow drew her to Cooper. He had lost his family at an early age. He had been forced to live a life on his own, without family and love. She knew that was where Cooper's friends had come in. Like a broken dam, they had flooded in and filled the void. Together they made a roguish, but that undeniably loving group of friends. As she had thought in the car park too, she had always admired that. Unlike Cooper, she never truly had friends.

Orphaned at an early age, while growing up as a little girl in her home - a little Spanish village - she had lost her parents. Killed in a raid by thieves and plunderers who had attacked the village, looking for whatever spoils they could find, she had also been orphaned. Losing the love and comfort of her family as Cooper had done. From that day she had sworn to oppose injustice and tyranny. As soon as she had been old enough, she had travelled from her home country Spain and set about asserting herself in an Interpol position; it was her destiny. She had survived for a reason and this was it: ensure goodness remained in the world.

In her early years she had decided to cover up her humble origins and pretend she had always come from a law empowered family. In those years she had strived to assert herself deeply into law enforcement and become who she felt destined to be. She had eventually managed to hide her Spanish accent behind the thickness of the French. She had started observing those customs which blended her in with the country. That was one thing she had never revealed to her fellows. She was never French by birth.

With a small smile, she also remembered that Cooper had never known that of her either. On her own, she had learned to become one of them. She had done everything necessary, except one thing. She had never changed her name. That was one aspect that would always stay the same. Having her name reminded her of her long dead parents. This bought a tear to her eye. A single pearlescent tear rolled over her cheek and plopped onto her boot. She sniffed and brushed the tear from her boot. She straightened up and reminded herself of her goal. She was an inspector now and that was behind her.

The best thing she could do for her dead parents now was to achieve her goal. She felt pain and anguish, but she had to overcome this. She still had the love for her parents. She was her father's daughter: brave and enduring. Emotions were in conflict within her, but she attempted to stem their endless flow. What was done was done and she had to focus. But she could not deny the hatred she felt for thievery and crime. Then why was she so attached to Cooper, after what had happened to her? She could not answer this question.

Carmelita arched her back and turned towards the darkness of the night that was now beginning to lighten beyond the arch. She patted the red pistol, again in her holster, and smiled. She was ready. It was the time for her to go forth and do what would have made her parents proud. She would not stand alone and let their deaths be in vain. She took a single step towards the arch. A single step is but one amongst a thousand on the twisting road to destiny she thought. Still, she was ready to take that first step. She stared ahead of her. The pain of emotion she felt made her halt, but only momentarily. This, the events to come, was to be her destiny.

"I have strived repeatedly to maintain justice," she whispered to herself, "This is what I do, what a like to do – protect the rights of the common man. Fight for innocent people. And that is what I shall do; I shall not compromise these values. Even..." Her bottom lip shook. "Even if Cooper must cross my path I will stand fast and tall."

She was worthy of it, she knew she could do this. Cooper would be far away by now, but she would soon be behind him, every step of the way. No matter what she thought, maybe there was still room in her heart for Sly Cooper.

**The Welsh Triangle, Off the South Coast of Wales: 2:14 PM.  
**  
The torrent of rain poured down on the world below as if it had no other interest rather than to turn the ground into mud. Large puddles gathered and rippled on the rutted dirt track that wound its way over the hills and hillocks of the south English coast. Dotted about the barren landscape were a small selection of grubby laurel bushes and withered stumps of trees. Some stones also lay about, strewn over the fields that were boarded by cobbled stone walls. Even at early afternoon, it was relatively dark. But rain seemed quite a recurring event in Wales. Here, on the wild coast, it never stopped at all.

Then as if to spark the monotony, a sudden light blazed over the hills from the east and a vehicle crested over the steep rise. It pushed its way through the slurping mud and with its tires rolling, ground its way further along the track. The blazing light shone from the vehicles large head lights. It was a large truck with a light purple exterior and a caricature of a raccoon's head painted on the side. It was the Cooper van. The van seemed to be headed for a remote promontory that reached out like a bow from the stony coast. The grooved tracks lead towards it and then extended along the promontory for some way before disappearing between an assortment of boulders and craggy edifices of stone.

Further behind this, a series of jagged looking lime stone stacks jutted dangerously from the water and surrounded a haphazard series of cliffs that formed a wind and rain swept island. The island itself was composed of a rabble of smaller rocks and stacks that were covered in low hanging bushes and moss. A large stone pile then rose from the island which had a foaming waterfall tumbling down its face. Together the windswept features of the island formed what looked like a very treacherous hunk of rock.

As the van chugged closer through the mud and rain, sheer cliffs rose upwards from the ground and jagged spears of granite pierced the earth like giant arrows. It looked very foreboding and isolated, quite the perfect place for a villain to hide out. Another useful aspect of the dangerous promontory was that there was just one way in and out by road; meaning that any enemies could easily be trapped on the island.

It also didn't look exactly inviting to attempt any escape by sea, for the billowing and sucking sea that lined the sheer cliffs smashed themselves with such ferocity on the rocks and sent such quantities of foam into the sky that it made any escape by boat quite impossible. Any vessels coming anywhere near the island would surely be dashed and sunk on the rocks. The constant rain also only served to worsen the violent conditions of the Welsh south coast. But that was the way it had been for years. The Promontory sat right at the edge of one of the world's most treacherous bodies of water known as the Welsh triangle.  
The van had now pushed its way entirely onto the narrow drive of gravel that ran down the centre of the outcrop running towards the promontory.

Rocks and pebbles ground and crunched themselves underneath the thick tires and some errant gravel flew from the path and tumbled down the face of the cliffs and was swallowed up by the foaming depths of the Welsh sea. The water foamed and growled in a menacing thunder of sound, licking its way up the cliff as if it wanted to swallow the van. Soon the outcrop narrowed to such an extent that there was barely a metre of ground on either side of the road. By now, the heavy rain was beginning to make loud clanging sounds against the duco of the vehicle which added to the noise of the sea and wind outside.

In fact, the conditions were beginning to become so severe that Murray had to hug the wheel to his chest just to keep the van from plummeting onto the rocks abreast of the swirling sea. Finally, the large lights mounted on the van cut through the darkness to reveal that the promontory was now beginning to widen and ahead of them lay a yawning gap in the cliffs. Some scraggly grass clung to the stone and struggled to clasp onto its precarious perch as the wind constantly battered it. Glancing behind the van, it could now be seen that the coast was at least a hundred metres behind, lying at the beginning of the outcrop. The beginning of the gravel drive was almost hidden by the torrential rain but could just be made out.

Meanwhile, only a darkish blue blotch indicated the coast line of Whales. The only land seen clearly was the jagged line of rock that jutted out from the promontory with the road mounted on it. It was quite clear as to why Raleigh had chosen the location for his hide out. Concealed by the rain and foam that seemed to be constantly present, it could barely be glimpsed from the fields on the coast.

Murray swung the gear stick to his right and the van jarred to a sudden halt. The mud squelched beneath its tires and the rain continued to patter the exterior. The wave of light now bathed a hulking outcrop ahead of it and embedded into the stone could be seen a large steel gate, two flaming torches standing beneath the frog effigy mounted above it. A large hunk of steel that made up a lock could be seen twisted around the bars of the gate and a series of weather worn looking signs made of drift wood littered the grass at its front. Sly now suspected that from Bentley's brief in the dossier that the statue on the gate matched the criminal's description: squat, crouched, and with a series of lopsided teeth and a huge and bobbled hat.

The signs that lay beneath the gaze of the sculpture read: keep out, no trespassing, private property and offenders shall be prosecuted. The final word of the last line had been inked in with some ferocity and it seemed that whoever had written it got glee out of the message. Clearly, Raleigh didn't want any hint of his criminal activities escaping that lonely corner of the Welsh triangle. It didn't look like that wish would be granted for very much longer.

As the van idled beside the towering gate, a small patch of clouds rolled across the sky and concealed the little light that the moon provided. The vehicle now lay in a patch of darkness that was increased by the towering cliffs. The only real light that enlightened the darkness was the headlights that still blazed against the wrought steel of the gate. Even though the Cooper gang intended to gate rash Raleigh's operation imminently, it looked as if he would have plenty of breathing space. With the huge lock in place, the gate would be staying firmly closed. Meanwhile, the gang sat bemused inside the van, struggling to think of what to do next while the violent weather tore around outside. It was easy to picture Raleigh gloating within his sanctuary while they were trapped at the edge of the promontory.

Finally, Bentley decided that it was time for someone to speak. He broke the silence with the usual cough and then he spoke.

"Ah yes team," said Bentley, trying to encourage the silence around him, "It appears we have hit a bit of a dead end."

"Yes, it is a dead end," said Sly gloomily, "The only way onto that promontory is through that gate. Besides, it would be too dangerous to try and bring the van around this area with this kind of weather."

"Too true," groaned Murray sadly, "There is no way we will be getting through that gate soon. Besides, I'm not willing to leave my baby behind." He gave the dashboard of the van a loving pat.

"I sympathise with you Murray," said Sly sympathetically, "After the stealing of my family's Thievious Raccoonus, I'm never leaving anything precious behind either."

"A good sentience Sly," Bentley said approvingly, "That kind of attitude is what will give us an advantage over the Fiendish Five. But before we can even start on that, we have to figure out this first obstacle." He nodded towards the gate that blocked their path.

"Yes buddy," said Murray, "Do you have any ideas? I may have brawn on my side, but even I couldn't put a dent in those gates. It looks like those fiends were well prepared."

"Well," mused Bentley in a wondering way, "I don't suppose we could use some small explosives. My bombs might just be able to blow open that lock. I think that is what we will have to do."

"Yeah, that's probably right," said Sly as he brightened at the prospect of blowing apart the Fiendish five's security. "Besides, I'm only too happy to give Raleigh an explosive greeting." Sly grinned happily and sat back, lost in his thoughts.

"Wahoo!" bellowed Murray excitedly, "Time for some fun. Let's make a bang and blow the wind from them. They will never forget this heist." Murray then also sat back, in apparent bliss at the prospect.

"Well," said Bentley, gulping as he adjusted his collar, "Now that everyone has decided on that, I guess I should go and lay those bombs. The sooner we're in, the sooner we can reclaim those pages." He reached for the handle of the van's passenger door, but as he did so he turned back again. "Oh and by the way sly" he said, "You should probably read up on Raleigh's dossier; there is likely to be some information you should know. Then we can be more prepared."  
"Alright Bentley," said Sly obligingly, "While you lay those bombs, I'll get reading. Murray and I will be ready to go once you blow those charges."

Bentley nodded towards Sly and gave a wave to Murray before reaching down into the foot well and removing a satchel marked with a red symbol. It could just be made out that the label read 'explosives' in block letters as Bentley swung the worn satchel over his shoulder. He also removed a battered pith helmet from a metal hook on the wall and placed it on his pointed head.

Finally, all decked out in his garb, Bentley swung the door latch and the door swung out into the dark and rain. Bentley gulped slightly before lowering himself from the leather of the seat and onto the rain drenched ground. Then, gently closing the door behind him, he stepped out into the night. Watching through the windscreen, Sly and Murray could see him walking towards the thick lock which was bathed in the headlight. Then, seeing all was going well, Sly rifled through his pack and removed Carmelita's file from the assorted documents before extracting the dossier Bentley had drawn up on Raleigh. He flipped open the cover and begun to read.

Sir Eric Winchester Raleigh, a convicted member of the criminal organization known as the Fiendish Five, was born on the 5th of May, 1957. He was born to a rich family of much wealth in southern England where he enjoyed a life of privilege and luxury. While Raleigh was at the English high school for the gifted; he showed an in depth knowledge and interest associated with technology. In his third year he showed the ability to construct and operate basic machines. In his twelfth year he left school showered with awards and certificates for his skill. Eventually Raleigh completed a six year course in engineering at the University of London. He was again showered with honours and finally returned to his southern English home where he continued his interests with technology. For many years he gained much wealth and prestige from his fantastic inventions. Soon however, this ideal would change.

Raleigh began to become bored with his life of luxury and privilege. Soon he found himself becoming preoccupied more than ever with the idea of pirating and extorting wealth on the high seas. Raleigh knew that with the resources at his hands he could do whatever he wanted. At this point he heard tell of the criminal organisation know as the Fiendish Five and became infatuated with the notion. From what he knew, they were interested in acquiring a machinist for the organisation and Raleigh's technological skills were what fit the bill. Longing for excitement, Raleigh secretly signed on to the organisation and gained his dream of pirating wealth from ships, thus gaining a second, ill-gotten personal fortune. In return for the resources provided by the Fiendish Five, he was to provide technology and machinery for their operations. He became employed as the mad machinist of the Fiendish Five and from that point was known as a terror of the tides.

Using his new found reputation, Raleigh continued to try his hand at pirating and found it very profitable. Having gained all the stolen wealth sailing along the Welsh coast, he soon fell in love with pirating. Raleigh, who became addicted to crime, was now known as the 'Mad Machinist' of the Fiendish Five and the authorities decided he was dangerous to leave unchecked. However when they attempted to arrest the mad man, he escaped and disappeared along the coast of southern Wales. The last recorded sightings of this maniac were in a perilous stretch of sea known as the Welsh triangle.

This dangerous chunk of ocean suffers relentless storms and harsh climates with constant rain and wet. The desolate nature of the location was believed to have been a key point in Raleigh's decision to escape there. Several attempts have been made to hunt out the reclusive villain, but none have availed. Raleigh continues to wage terror on the stretch of coast in the south. The locals have even given the sea there a nickname; The Tide of Terror. Many lives have been lost in this region.

Some facts remaining still in common belief are that Sir Raleigh still optimises piracy as a means of gaining illegal wealth. Many wreaked ships and vessels are still found around the area today. Multiple items of much value have been found to go missing from museums and instates in the area. Interpol investigations are sure that this wealth and extortion fuels the crime machine that he is a part of.

Another strange phenomenon of the Welsh triangle is that it never seems to stop raining. Raleigh is believed to have created a sinister technology that allows his hide out to remain hidden. He may be able to manufacture and fabricate weather with one of his diabolical inventions. Until his hideout can be located however, this monster will continue to be a hazard of the seas. Affiliations and contact with the other four members of the Fiendish Five are unknown. All continue to conceal themselves from the eyes of the public.

Sly closed the cover of the file. Having finished reading its content, he set it upon the surface of Bentley's desk and thought. Raleigh seemed quite a tricky customer and it looked a difficult job to take him down. Plus, he thought to himself, what with the sinister technology, and the idea of being a mad machinist mentioned, it seemed like it would be even more of a task. Still, he thought, Bentley and Murray are by my side and I am ready for whatever challenge will be thrown at me. I'd be happy to take Raleigh on, he thought silently.

He knew that deep down he was ready for a new challenge. It was time to step out and test his skills. At the end of it all he would reclaim his family's legacy and diminish the reputation of the villainous five. He desired to make his father proud. At the thought of his father, Sly squared his shoulders and turned determinedly in the direction of the gate. He knew what he was up against and realised that he was a Cooper. This was a challenge that he could overcome, if he played his cards right. Come on Raleigh, The Terror of the Seas, he thought: its time you met your match.

At the same time, many leagues from where Sly sat, Carmelita thought the same thing. This was the beginning for all of them; a beginning of tremendous proportions in so many ways. Meanwhile, so much further away, many hundreds of miles, the enemy had awoken. His cold heart seethed with rage and hatred. At last, very soon, his time had come. Cooper was walking towards his destiny, just as he had planned. Patience – he must be patient.  
But time was no matter to him: he had lived beyond time, forced himself beyond such mortal boundaries.

He was no longer just living flesh and pounding heart, but a will of iron strength. He could not be destroyed like he had done to that idiot raccoon and every one of his family line. Now it was just his son, his little puny son; the very last of the Coopers. Their two legacies would meet as he knew they would. Time had at last run out for the fabled vigilantes. Then The Master would truly know - finally prove – who was the superior. Perfection had no age. The Cooper line was far from perfect, only vermin to be crushed in his web: a web which he had begun to draw tighter.

**This is Chapter 1 (4 overall) in Part 2 of 13.  
This was a bit shorter, but they are getting longer everytime I write a new one!  
They will be a bit more action later on in the plot. Enjoy reading it!**


	6. Chapter 5 - The Isle of Wrath

**Chapter Five: The Isle of Wrath.**

The rain continued to pound down upon the peninsula. Bentley ignored the heavy downfall and focused on the work at hand. Examining the hulking lock in the blazing light of the van, he felt satisfied with his work. Finally he was able to lean back and observe the ring of charges that covered the metallic surface. Counting the one he had just laid, there were now ten explosive charges, plenty enough to slice open the lock. What a punch it would make!

Bentley whipped a small remote from his now considerably light satchel and adjusted the antennae. Then he twiddled a small series of knobs and a red bulb flashed into life. At the same time, a small red bulb flared into life on each of the miniscule charges. A small beeping sound began to sound and a countdown appeared on the screen of the remote, counting down in block digits from thirty.  
**  
** Bentley had just those thirty seconds to run for cover. Spinning with his toes on the spot and hanging onto the brim of his pith helmet, to stop it falling from his pointed head, Bentley raced for the cover of a nearby moss covered boulder. As he watched the digits on his remote count down to zero, he quickly twiddled another dial on the device, pushed his glasses up his long nose and a radio crackled into life. Just as Murray's voice began to issue from the device, Bentley dived behind the boulder.  
**  
**"Hey Bentley, what's going on," said Murray worriedly, "Is everything all right? Is it all good? Are you hurt or something – you're not blown to pieces!"  
**  
** "Calm down, don't worry about me pal," said Bentley comfortingly, "I'm all right. I just thought I should tell you that the charges are about to blow apart the lock. It could go with quite a bang."  
**  
** "Okay Bentley," said Murray understandingly, "I'll tell Sly. We'll be ready when the charges blow. Be sure to take cover yourself and then in we go."  
**  
** "Thanks Murray," said Bentley, "I've already taken cover. Let's go and get him."  
**  
** There was a pleasing roar of appreciation from Murray across the line as Bentley dimmed the radio channel and the lights went out. He then tucked the remote back into his satchel and turned to watch as the charges were about to explode. He was just in time. A small bang sounded and then a tremendous tearing sound of metal and timber rent the night. A flash of fire and flame burst forth from the gate's surface and the lock turned red before splitting down its centre and shattering. The half melted segments of the lock thumped to the ground amidst a shower of sparks and smoke. Then as the final spirals of flame pinged of the metallic grate, a rumbling creak was heard and the gate swung wide, each side of the gate flinging inwards towards the rocky cliffs beside the road. The bars came to rest on the cliffs and the night fell silent again.  
**  
** Bentley raised his head and glanced around at the area in front of him. A few smouldering shards of iron lay smoking on the grass, strewn in front of the gate but apart from that there were no other signs of danger. Raising himself onto his feet and doing a full surveillance of the blast zone Bentley could also see that apparently no security had been alerted to their immediate arrival.

Satisfied with the task at hand, Bentley strode back towards the van and pocked his tongue out at the now grime splattered and still leering statue of Raleigh. You aren't seemingly so tough, he thought. With a small grin to himself, Bentley walked up to the passenger side of the van and swung the handle. The door popped open and Murray and Sly's grinning faces appeared. Their arms reached out and pulled Bentley into the welcoming interior. Glad to be out of the rain, Bentley snubbed the door behind him.  
**  
** "Well done buddy," said Sly enthusiastically, "I could not have done it better myself - an inspired entrance: blowing our way towards those fiends. Raleigh will remember that one when he's in jail, I'll make sure personally he doesn't forget!"  
**  
** "Uh, thanks Sly," said Bentley blushing in slight embarrassment, but appreciation, "I think we have effectively taken our first step."  
**  
** "Oh yeah," bellowed Murray, "That's an inspired entry all right; time to get some action. Thanks to you guys I can finally knock some heads together, ones that deserve it. Prepare to feel my fist of fury!" Murray gave a hearty belly laugh and keeled over on the steering wheel, in a fit of giggles. Sly and Bentley grinned at each other at Murray's amusement. Then without warning, they both broke into peals of laughter to. The whole group of them laughed their heads off for a few seconds before wiping tears from their eyes, straightening up and returning their attentions to the immediate situation.

"He, he, ha, ho, excuse me," said Sly, still giggling, "We really should get back to the task at hand. Let's start the van and power on before Raleigh's thugs get onto us."

"Ah-ha, ah-hem, pardon me," Bentley tittered, "Yes, Sly is right; we need to return our attentions to the current situation. Our entrance is now clear, so let's get going." He punctuated his last words with a punch to air and he coughed at the same time, jolting him off his seat. Bentley crawled out of the foot well and removed his pith helmet, placing it on the leather seat. He grinned good-naturedly at his friends.  
**  
** "Yes Bentley," said Murray, "Time to get going. I'll warm up the engine and then we're off!" Murray wiped a large fleshy hand over his light blue shirt and rubbing his hands together, grasped the steering wheel firmly. Tossing his cream woollen scarf over his shoulder so as to operate the dashboard, Murray swung the gear stick from parking to drive and the engine growled. Then he seized the clutch and threw it forwards. Instantly the tires found traction on the gravel and the van rolled onwards.  
**  
** "Hurray," hooted Sly, "Let's go, power on and down with the Fiendish Five. This is the moment my family and the Cooper gang will shine - time to begin." Sly finished dancing all over the seat and calming down, relaxed into a seated position on the invitingly squashy leather upholstery. The engine roared again and with a small jolt they had passed under the Iron Gate. The shadow of its silhouette passed over them as they ground into the narrow canyon beyond its arc.  
"The Murray approves!" came the voice from the driver's seat. **  
**  
A large torrent of rain continued to barrel down on the Welsh coast. Relentlessly it turned the ground into mud and washed away all traces of any tire tracks in the dirt. The previously visible tracks left behind by the Cooper van had now been washed away. Only a slurry trail of soil told that a vehicle had even passed that way. But still, she would not give up. Carmelita surveyed the miserable stretch of barren land that lay beside the churning sea. It was a windswept and forbidding place. The Fiendish Five were clearly experienced and the so called sir Raleigh was no exception. She remembered missions like this in her early youth. She had had to deal with slippery criminals for most of her life.

Ever since her parents had died at the hands of those criminals back in her native Spanish village. Some said she had a black and white outlook on crime. She thought it was necessary. When she had to deal with slime like the five, you couldn't take any chances. It was necessary to be that way in the world. She had to think that way to clear the separation of good from bad. Her relationship with Cooper had blurred the line: she now found it harder to differentiate the two.  
Many of these thoughts had been a message drilled into her during her training. Her mentor, an old badger by the name of Inspector Barkley had seen to that. While he had been a kind man, he had also always been strict on standards. It was shown in the way he ran Interpol. He had doubted her skills at first but when she had eventually recovered a certain stolen necklace in an escapade involving Sly Cooper, he had turned around.

Finally observing her skills, he had promoted her to a position at Interpol. From there she had pledged herself to capturing Sly Cooper. It had been her ambition ever since then and she was still after the raccoon. She determined to make the badger proud. But she did not forget what Sly had done. She might never have recovered the fabulous Diva Diamond if not for Sly. He had managed to apprehend Pierre and return it to her. With this success, her first mission, she had gone from a rookie to working full-time in law. She could not know how to feel towards him. She smiled privately to herself. She knew the raccoon had wanted all along to make sure she succeeded. He was indeed an unusual character.

There was one other reason as to why she always continuously trailed Sly Cooper. This secret had been kept right in her deepest knowledge. She had never let anyone know her true feelings. In her mind she thought he knew that there was at least a single reason for chasing Sly. He connected her with someone like herself; without a family and many friends in the world. She longed, secretly within herself that she could somehow be one with Cooper. But the barrier of thief and justice separated them. They could not be together. She knew it could not happen. Despite that, she felt that together, they completed each other.  
She sighed sadly and pulled down the officer's cap she wore over her curly hair. She clutched the handle of the pistol at her hips and stared unflinchingly towards the vague shadow of the windswept isle she could see, jutting out of the coast. Waving a hand to the trail of vehicles behind her she jumped back into the side of the leading car, snapped out a command in rapid French and they pushed forwards. _I'll be there soon Sly_, she thought.

A sudden burst of thunder and lightning lit the sky, thick with grey lumps of cloud rolling threateningly across the darkness. A resounding boom followed the burst and the echo seemed to rattle the very foundations of the narrow promontory. A selection of small pebbles and stones rolled down the cliffs and some limestone dust was scattered down the rock stacks, still standing like sentinels in the churning swell. Some of the dislodged stones rolled down the earthen edifices and struck the flanks of the van. They made tiny plinking thuds as each battered the metal. Together the gang huddled within its interior.

They were now coming towards the mouth of the gorge through which they had to enter Raleigh's hideout. The gate at the far end behind them was now just a looming shadow. But ahead of them a flickering light shone through the rain, as if a candle flame burned bright through the wetness. As the van drew out off the gorge and turned along a narrow rocky path, it could be seen that a smaller gate, about the size of a normal person stood at the abrupt end to the road. A small passage carved into the mottled rock lay behind it which twisted into the cliffs and onwards to the isle that lay behind.

Lying in front of the passage that passed through the rock face was a pair of huge flaming glass lanterns, alight each with a roaring flame and giving out the mysterious glow seen from the gorge. The light bounced from the metal of the gate and revealed a series of drift wood polls, crudely nailed into the grassy slopes and ringed with a frayed rope that created a small compound. Another set of thick drift wood polls hoisted the lanterns into the air. In front of the small compound, a single weather beaten and moss covered sign sat, also nailed into the ground. The message it boosted was simple but clear; welcome to the Isle of Wrath.

The gang stared at the sign's faded, black inked letters as the van drew nearer. The sign was also composed of roughly hewn drift wood and was leaning sideways, as if the area had not been attended for some time. Beyond the sign a final notice bearing a slightly pompous message, etched into a plank and tacked to the cliff itself read; none shall enter here without express permission of Sir Raleigh. Those choosing to break this rule shall be dealt with most harshly. It seemed as if he did not welcome visitors. Finally the group removed their gaze from the sign in withdrew away from the wind screen. The van rumbled closer and as they looked to either side of them, it was again seen that they were on a narrow stretch of rock which lead to the grassy grotto containing the signs. Either side of them churned with the wild Welsh seas and other strange objects were now beginning to appear.

Large masses loomed out of the swell and occasionally disappeared beneath the surface again before boobing upwards. Long and bulky wooden shapes were floating on the surface of the water, seemingly moving with the tide. Then at last one of the shapes rose momentarily from the water, suspended on a wave and the gang could see what it actually was. The strange shapes were wooden hulls of ships, being tossed about in the ocean. Tall masts sprouted from the centre of some of their rain swept and water drenched decks and ragged sails while ropes swung from the twisted shells of others.

Some of the wrecks bunched together and rolled over in the swell while others drifted lazily. Occasionally sections of timber would break off and splash into the foaming water. Other sections of loss drift wood were already bobbing around in the swell. They were actually driving right through a graveyard of ships. It seemed that Raleigh's sinister weather related technology was still wrecking havoc on the tortured ships and vessels.

Finally the van drew up at the grassy embankment beside the gate through the rock. The tires thudded over the rough ground and came into contact with wooden slats. A loosely slung wooden bridge spanned a small gap between their road and the isle. Held together with more fraying rope and completely rail less, it swayed in a light breeze as the van ground across it and slid onto the ledge of rock that jutted out at the edge of the grass. Murray popped the gears a second time and the van revolved on its wheels and turned so that the rear doors faced the gate. A few grunting sounds emanated from the interior before a clicking sound was heard and the doors swung open, Sly leaping out of them and landing with a quite, wet flump, on the drenched grass.

He stood up, brushed himself off and surveyed the immediate area. He heard a few more roaring sounds as Murray pulled the keys from the ignition and the van's engine went into silence. The head lights flickered off, but light still resinated from windows. Bentley's various solar, wind and other methodical powered devices saw to a continuous supply of power in case of emergencies. Sly shook his head at the diligence of his friends. Bentley always prepared for anything. Well, he thought, time to knuckle down.

"Ahoy Bentley," said Sly into his Binoc-u-com, lifting it from his satchel. "Do you read me?" He glanced sparingly back at the doors of the van as Bentley raced over to a computer panel on the wall and mounted himself on a seat by it.

He clasped a pair of head phones about his ears and twiddled a few dials. A randomly jolting red line appeared on the screen of the panel, seemingly monitoring sound waves. Murray turned around and adjusted his seat to access the other control panel. He twiddled some more knobs and the radio dish atop the cab swivelled to face the isle. The occasional electric buzzing sound interrupted the pattering silence of the rain. Like they had planned, the van had been utilised as their mobile base of operations. All was going to plan. Bentley turned in his seat and gave the thumbs up to say the equipment was working.

"I read you Sly," said Bentley, "Loud and clear," he said with more emphasis as if hinting back to Interpol the week before. "Everything is working fine here and we are ready to go. Commence operation Stealth-Approach."

"Right then," said Sly agreeably, "Time to get cracking. So, what's the plan?"

Bentley sniffed and spoke. "We don't really have a plan so much as a strategy," he said, "It is really just smash your way into Raleigh's hideout and steal the pages he possesses. Then try and escape without causing too much attention and without notice. With Murray and me on surveillance in the van, we can provide your back up though hopefully nothing will go wrong."

"Fear not Bentley," said Sly calmly, "I believe my stealth is sure to secure the job. I can be in and out of their in a trice. Just watch out for Interpol too; I believe Carmelita will soon be on our heels again."

"That's right," grunted Murray at the head of the van, "The reliable inspector is sure to show up. Even though we are in one of the most remote places I could personally think of, she is likely to eventually find us. She has been persistently on Sly's tail for years."

"Yeah, that's right Murray," said Sly, "With Carm on our tail now, we have to move quickly. In fact I better get started so as not to waste any time." Sly hoisted up his yellow belt and tightened his slightly loose eye bandana.

Bentley spluttered as he snorted into a cup of black tea he had just removed from a small stove. He coughed violently as he spoke. "What is this," said Bentley, sounding astonished, "Since when did you call Carmelita Carm? I don't recall you ever referring to Carmelita with a pet name before?" He gazed slightly curiously at Sly as he sipped his warm Devonshire tea.

"Oh yeah," said Sly reddening, "Just a cute name I thought it would be nice. Nice to have a familiar way to refer to Carmelita that is."

"Oh, that's all good then," said Bentley, quickly recovering from his scolding. He's just obsessed with her I bet, thought Bentley inside his head. Any excuse for flirting with her.

"Ah yes," Murray said lazily, "Kind of romantic don't do think Bentley? Cute that Sly has a pet name?" He gently elbowed Bentley as he said it, giving him a small wink.

"Yes, of course," said Bentley, a smile breaking over his face, "I suppose you're right. If only Carmelita knew. Okay then Sly, back to business."

"Yes Bentley," said Sly, "I've got it basically covered. To enter Raleigh's stronghold I need to enter through this gate and beyond that it should be pretty self explanatory; just a few security measures and such to look for. It should be a snap."

"Good attitude Sly," said Bentley approvingly, "That really is just about it, but as usual, just one more thing."

"Great," said Sly happily, "Shoot then Bentley."

"Okay," said Bentley, "I have diagnosed from a brief scan of the area that a series of bottles have been scattered about. I believe each is meant to contain some kind of hard clue." He brought a super imposed image up on a screen and pointed to it. The screen displayed an image of a green glass bottle with a question mark stencilled on it in gold. A single scroll of parchment could be glimpsed through the mellowed surface of the glass. It looked quite ordinary but it was an effective way to hide important documents.

"That's all very well," said Sly questioningly, "But what does that have to do with the mission? What significance are these bottles of yours?"

"As I said," conferred Bentley, "I believe they contain clues. Each clue has some kind of algorithm or code which if collected probably makes a combination to unlock something. I think it is quite likely that they could make a combination to a vault which might contain some pages of the Thievious Raccoonus. For all I know the Five may each have many of these vaults to safeguard their separate sections. I think, according to my research, that this is a standard security measure of the Fiendish Five. I'll admit that it is a little rudimentary."

"Good theory Bentley," said Sly, "I'll make sure to check that out. I'll be happy to try anything that might allow me to regain my family's legacy."  
"Yeah!" said Murray loudly, "Get back what is rightfully yours. Barge into them!"

"Thank you again Murray," said Bentley, "But violence needn't be used unless necessary. Sly will just do what he needs to do." He eyed his friend with an only slightly serious look before giving him a wink of his own.

"Ah yeah," said Murray, "Of course. A bit of decorum as you would say Bentley? Don't worry; I'll make sure to watch it." He grinned well naturedly.

"Ok guys," said Sly, "I get the idea. I had better get going. The sooner Raleigh is out for the count, the better. See you later."

"See you later Sly," said Murray, "Hope all goes well."

"So do us," said Bentley, "Good luck Sly. Remember we'll be here to provide back up."

"Thanks pals," Sly said appreciatively, "It will be handy knowing you've still got my back-again. I feel good about this one."

"Remember we are just trying to keep you alive," said Bentley reproachfully, "Safety first. Your safety in the field that is."

"Yes, safety first," answered Sly, "But remember there's no fun in the game without a bit of a risk. That's where the fun of being a thief comes in."

"You got me on that one," said Bentley, "But here's to the job. Good luck Sly." Bentley raised his cup of Devonshire tea in a form of salute and Sly briefly waved his hand before turning around towards the gate. But before he moved he whispered, almost to himself:

"Thanks a lot guys, you mean so much to me."

As he walked away and the van doors swung quietly closed he almost thought he could sense the smiles that appeared on their faces. But that was family; you were there to support each other. Every day since he had met them he had felt even more grateful for their presence. Sometimes he felt he couldn't have gotten through without them. He knew deep in himself too that he desired to be one with Carmelita. Together they were complete he thought. It was sad they were divided. But maybe that would one day not be so. He hitched a hopeful look onto his face and walked towards the gate in the rock face.

Bentley sat facing the computer panel. Again he twiddled a device and brought up Carmelita's dossier on Sly, which he had scanned into the system. With a glance towards Murray, who was snoring away fitfully, he turned back and gazed at Sly's image. He felt wistful. He, Sly and Murray all shared that past in common. All orphans, all without family and all alone in the world. He gazed sadly, but strangely blankly at the computer screen as he thought of his own long dead parents.

He had barely known them. He had only been a year or so old at the time of their deaths. Like Sly, his parents were felled by criminals. The anger and pure injustice of it brought a tear to his eye. It was not right: these villains running unchecked, tearing innocent families apart. He straightened his bowtie and adjusted his starched white-collar. One day they would pay for that he thought, and that day would be today. With the downfall of the Fiendish Five would come a little redemption for all of them!

Sly strolled through the wind and rain. Despite the rough conditions he walked straight backed and determinedly towards the little gate. As he tip-toed past the first drift wood sign he thought of something. Employing his ancestors ancient and time honoured moves of stealth he raised himself onto his toes and scuttled like a skilled ballerina, over towards the gap. He paused in front of the gate and contemplated it. It didn't look hard to break. A simple but flimsy looking iron padlock wrapped around a rusting chain was all that held the two doors in place. _A good whack should easily dislodge them_.

Easing himself up onto the eve of rock, Sly raised the golden hooked cane in his hand ready to strike. He bought it crashing down and with a jarring thud the lock shuddered and splintered into two segments. It tumbled off the gate and splashed into a clump of the wet ferns which garnered the area around the gate. Then using one of the sodden plants as a boost, Sly pushed himself further up and prodded the gate. The coiled length of chain slid off easily and clanged to the rocks below. Dusting the chains aside, Sly hoisted the rest of his body into the tunnel and ran through it.

Inside the slight dampness of the tunnel Sly could hear the muffled thundering of the rain on the outcrop outside. He ran further onwards and as he turned a corner, the end of the short passage appeared. Rain was falling like a wall over the opening and icy sheets of water were running down the rock. Around the edges of the opening were some scattered patches of dark green moss and some mottled patterns in the light gray stone. A slight smell of mildew came to Sly's nose as he came to the opening.

On this side of the passage there was no gate but a gaping hole which opened onto a sprawling, wild lawn of thick grass, which ran further down a slight slope, ending on a small sandy bank at the edge of the foaming sea. On either sides of the lawn and the opening, the cliffs stretched away behind him and disappeared into the escarpment that grew up behind him. A small assortment of rocks and boulders were scattered along the lawn and further along were some ragged palm trees, clinging determinedly to the lawn in the high wind.

Sly razed his eyes as he stepped out of the tunnel, placing his right blue boot on the damp grass first. Looking around he could see more features that stuck out of the landscape. Another clump of palm trees were dotted about on the lawn near the little beach and off to the right of the tunnel was a series of large boulders which formed a small trail of grass encrusted hills. More of the lush ferns seen at the entrance were sprouting from the area and even the occasional vine was swinging from a tree or rock. The Isle of wrath certainly deserved its name-it truly was a desolate place. But even though it seemed formidable, Raleigh had efficiently used it for his nefarious purpose.

The continued evidence to the wreckage of the villain was lying about the place. A large wooden hull of an old masted clipper ship with ragged sails, clinging to its rotted polls lay half submerged near the beach. Several old barrels, hunks of drift wood and coils of frayed rope littered the sand along with a handful of old chests. Behind the half submerged ship wreck was a chain of rocks which created a small grotto. To the right hand side of the outcrop ringing the grotto, a small waterfall flowed down into the frothing ocean. The unusually treacherous sea seemed to be responsible for washing the remains of the vessel into the grotto – a net that scooped out to catch anything valuable passing by.

Sly's eyes travelled away from the grotto and past the waterfall, further over to his right. Towards the hills covered with moss were more glass lanterns made of smelted iron and burning brightly. Each lamp was again mounted on a large wooden poll and each lit up a gravel drive to another security gate, much like the one at the entrance, complete with the Raleigh statue. The gate was smaller but was this time surrounded on either side by a jagged looking iron fence. Beyond it laid a path cleared through a patch of low-slung thorn bushes which turned towards another tunnel through the rock which curved to the left, away towards the distant stormy sea. The tunnel beyond the thorns revealed a backdrop of bedraggled trees set against an enormous lake, with more limestone stacks jutting out of the water and along the shore. Sly moved towards the gate as it seemed the way to go.

As Sly inched closer, treading quietly so as not to attract attention, he could begin to make out more features of the gate. Another metal padlock adorned the bars and it was about as large as a small melon. There was no way even the trusty Cooper cane could slice through it. Seeing as the gate was not an option, Sly inched further down the left side of the jagged fence, peering over to see what was behind. He could now see that another gate had been snugly fitted into the gap of rock beyond the thorns, which now also blocked his root. On either side of the second gate lay giant six feet high statues of Raleigh's leering face, set in windswept cobble stone. And just between the two figures sat a small red and yellow device, with four horns positioned around its top and a red dome light on its peak - Sly recognised the contraption from Interpol headquarters; clearly the Fiendish Five were optimising the same security alarms. Then Sly tweaked with a bright idea. _Perhaps if he could smash this alarm, the security gate would open - but how to get at it?_

Sly was still staring interestedly at the alarm box when a flicker of movement caught his attention. He ducked down just in time. A huge lumbering figure came into view from a small bunker positioned beside the inner gate and came to a standstill by the alarm box. It was a hulking walrus. Cleary he was meant to be some kind of security. As he leaned against the giant hat of the right statue, Sly could see he wore a black leather jacket and some tight fitting jeans. A thick brown belt hugged his waist and was strung with a series of gleaming and very sharp looking throwing stars. Beneath his jacket the walrus wore a red shirt with a gold chain around his neck and he also donned sneaker like shoes. His skull was shaved bald and his massive tusks reached to his chest. He didn't look like he was to be messed with. _Oh well_, Sly thought to himself, _I must do what I need to d. Anyway,_ he thought, _I wouldn't mind a bit_ _of a fight_. He grinned behind the fence and crouched, pondering his next move.

**This is Chapter 2 (Chapter 5 overall) of 13 in Part 2.  
Whoah, this story is getting longer than I expected - I'm on chapter 15 and Raleigh isn't even done yet!  
The way this is going I'll be writing for another year. But as long as someone likes reading it I'll be writing it.  
Hope you liked this chapter - Chapter 6 is just new and Chapter 7 will be here in about 2 - 3 weeks. Happy reading!**


	7. Chapter 6 - A Stealthy Passage

**Chapter Six: A Stealthy Passage.**

Murray glanced over at Bentley curiously. It had been half an hour since Sly had left and he was begging to feel rather nervous. Surely nothing could have happened to his friend. He shuddered as he thought of the terrible things that could happen to Sly and quickly seized a hamburger, taking a large bite to consol himself. He couldn't bear the thought of losing one his only true friends. Sly and Bentley had meant so much to him at the orphanage. He had almost always been singled out or laughed at. After his parents had died in a motoring accident, Murray had been left alone in the world; truly friendless and without comfort.

It had been a new dawn when he finally became part of the Cooper gang; Bentley and Sly appreciating him for his talents. All the good times they had had together. All the times they had come to cheer him on at the next big race. In return for his part in the gang, Murray had donated his old racing truck and turned it into the Cooper van. It still bore some marks, such as the orange flames, of Murray's old racing life. But Murray sincerely appreciated what he had given up his old life for. He had found something valuable that he had never known; friendship. He whispered quietly, so Bentley didn't hear: "Please get back safe Sly, for both our sakes." Murray wiped a tear from his eye as he sat back and waited.

Sly crouched behind the burnished metal fence and waited. The walrus didn't seem to be going anywhere. He just yawned and scratched his large nose. He leaned back and stretched his arms before he twisted back again and seized a star at his belt. Whipping it from his waist, the walrus proceeded to twirl it in his hand as it spun delicately on its sharp point. Staring lazily around, the walrus yawned and continued to twirl the star between his forefinger and thumb. Sly evaluated his options; either he could continue sitting there and wait for something to happen, or he could try something else. He opted for the second option. Staring around and down the fence he noticed some more features he had not noticed before.

At the very end of the left fence, where it met the cliff which snugly enclosed the gate, a thick based light tower rose above the grass. A rough looking pillar of limestone clay was piled up to about three metres and a wooden boarded platform lay atop it. Then there was a gigantic version of the glass lanterns on the lawn, at least two metres high but it contained a metallic looking spot light. A giant fluorescent dish rested in the in the heart of the circular device and was able to swivel across the whole area on a bolted turntable. Another tower just like it ran the other side of the fence, propped up against a large boulder. Each tower also had a burnished metal cone for a roof. Sly also noticed that another tower was mounted on a hill, just inside the thorny compound. The bunker that the walrus had come out of lay at the base of it. It looked horribly cramped and uncomfortable.

Sly noticed a ladder that had been crudely bolted to the left tower. The crooked railings lead up to the wooden platform ringing the lantern and another ladder ran down into the compound. It would be easy as pie; he was already noticing the blue sparks appearing around the ladder. Rather a large fault in security he thought. Oh well, that guard didn't look to bright anyway. Grinning at the simplicity of it all, Sly sped over towards the ladder and was about to scoot up it when he noticed a battered chest. Curiously he gave it a tap with his cane and the lid immediately fell off its hinges and thumped onto the grass. The chest contained a small assortment of some heavy golden coins which looked somewhat alike doubloons. Smiling at his luck, Sly pocketed the coins thinking that Raleigh could do with a bit of his own back.

Sly turned back towards the ladder and grasped the rungs, about to climb it when he heard a grunting noise from behind him. He whirled on the spot just in time to see another walrus, massive in stature, barrelling up the slope towards him. He gulped before he ducked aside and the walrus raced right by him and crashed headlong into a sign resting beside the tower. The sign read: All you landlubbers bow down before Raleigh, master of the seas. A tacky looking carved wooden skull was pinned to the top of the pompous message. The whole plaque shattered as the walrus crashed into it and slats of drift wood flew everywhere.

Sly had just enough time to glimpse a series of frayed ropes running between the watch towers in and out of the compound and around some palm trees before the walrus wheeled around for a second attack. Sly noted that the ropes would make an ideal escape route as he ducked the next charge. He glanced over the fence; glad that the walrus's companion hadn't noticed the scuffle. His momentary observations nearly cost him and the third attack just caught him on the shoulder and sent him reeling into a bed of ferns. Picking himself up, Sly turned to face the brute.

The rain trickled down his enormous opponent as if to accent his size, but Sly could see he was different from his colleague. This thug wore a pair of bright blue tweed overalls over a yellow plaid jacket. On his feet were outsize leather shoes with huge floppy laces. He wore a pair of thick leather gloves and donned a red cap on his shaved scalp. Like his friend, the walrus had a set of nasty looking tusks. Judging by the expensive look of the leather, Raleigh seemed to have money to burn on his security. But there was one thing that Sly hadn't seen; the walrus also swung a giant hammer above his head. It was really a massive wooden barrel impaled on a thick pole encased by iron bands. But as he bought it down, ready to squash Sly beneath it, the wily raccoon decided not to try it. He again flipped aside and the walrus brought it crashing to the grass with a thump.

"Crush raccoon, uh," roared the walrus, "I crush raccoon." Attempting at another clumsy swing, the walrus heaved the hammer above his head and made ready for another attempt. "Raccoon pancake, hah, hah, uuuhhh."

"Not today buddy," said Sly, "No raccoon pancakes are on the menu." With a sly grin on his sly face, Sly made to duck again, around behind his opponent when the next swing from the hammer tripped him up and he fell flat on his face. "Am I losing my touch?"

Sly pushed himself up and was just able to see the walrus wildly swinging the hammer and rushing at him. Jumping to his feet, Sly swung his own cane about, managing it in the most threatening way he could muster. Then, using the giant hammer as leverage he hooked his cane into the surface and soared over the walrus's head and seized a rope hanging in the leafs of a palm tree. The bewildered giant halted and clumsily turned around to see Sly waving at him mockingly, swaying from the rope. His eyes burning, the walrus charged at Sly and waved the hammer in all directions.

Just as he reached the palm tree, Sly did a graceful twirl and landed on the walrus's back. With a final swing, he swung his cane and struck the walrus in the small of the back. The walrus groaned and swayed on his feet before toppling backwards, with Sly leaping clear and flinging the hammer into the air. As he hit the ground the hammer soared out of his grip, through the sky and came down hard on the walrus's head. He gave a final grunt and his head lolled back, knocked out cold. Sly could just imagine the stars around his head. Turning his back on the prostrate figure, he ran to the ladder.

At last he was allowed to climb the ladder uninterrupted. Easily speeding along the trail of blue sparks, Sly skimmed over the wooden platform and came to a halt at the edge. He contemplated the compound which was covered in the thorny bushes as he glanced at the second walrus. He looked more intelligent than his companion; Sly couldn't see any hammer in sight. Then as if sensing his gaze, the walrus grunted and turned again towards the bunker. But instead of going inside it he simply flicked a red switch on a control panel by the door and the lanterns on each of the towers blared into life.

Turning quickly from the sudden brightness, Sly waited for something to happen. Then like a ray of moon beam, three beams of yellow light streamed from the towers and swept over the compound. Now the narrow path between the spines was bathed in light. Wondering at this, Sly saw the walrus pull a rock from his pocket and toss it into the path of the lights. Immediately a loud blaring sounded before silencing itself as a series of machine guns, concealed on the towers, obliterated it with a chatter of fire. With a growl of satisfaction at a good job done, the walrus sank back to his vigil. Great, Sly thought, security lights will make it so much easier.

Sly glared in an annoyed way at the smug walrus that was now flipping another throwing star around his head. The thug may have actually heard the scuffle with his companion and deduced to take extra precautions; either that or Raleigh had forewarned his guards. Either way his approach to the further end of the peninsula, where he suspected Raleigh was hiding out was going to be even more difficult. Then with a click of his fingers he got an idea. Sitting down by the lantern he removed his Binoc-u-com and pressed it to his eyes. Surveying the area carefully, he twiddled the radio dial and the communications screens popped up.

"Ah yes," said Bentley from the left screen, "How are you getting on?" He wore a head set about his ears and a microphone was propped in front of him. As he dialled the radio connection channel he twisted his tomato red bowtie to tighten it. He then adjusted is glasses over his beak like nose and buffed his knuckles on his creamy coloured chest shell. He swung his legs over the edge of the seat while he waited for the channel connection to clear. Finally he spun once around on his chair, flashing his dark green shell and turned to face the screen as the connection homed in.

"Oh alright Bentley," Sly said, "At least, until know. A problem has cropped up."

"What," Bentley screeched shrilly, "What's gone wrong? Did I mess up the plan? Are you alright - oh, fruit-tingles!"

"It's all right Bentley," Sly cued gently; "I'm all right. It is just a little slip up-that's all."

"Thank swamp," sighed Bentley, "I thought for a moment we'd been skewered. Well then, what's the problem?"

"Raleigh has jammed another handful of security gates throughout the island," said Sly, "Since I can't break through them I'll have to navigate carefully as I can around them. He has also got a handful of guards and even security lights with alarms. He's probably even got lasers. It's a bit of a pain but I think I can mange. The only real problem is that I've got this big guy blocking my way-throwing stars and all. I just had an encounter them."

"Ho-hum," said Bentley, "Admittedly I didn't plan for this. Oh well, I guess you know the usual drill; if you can smash those alarms, down go the lights and probably any lasers. Of course there are probably multiple alarms around the island. Then you just need to deal with the guards; with your usual agility and stealth that should be easy. As for the gates, well, they should be compromised along with the alarms."

"Okay Bentley," said Sly, "I already thought about the alarms but I guess you're right about the guards. As for the gates it's like you said; they should be compromised by the alarms. Thanks for the help Bentley-I'll call again later if I need you."

"Alright Sly," said Bentley, "I'll watch for your calls. Meanwhile remember we're here to help. Just give a tingle."

"Thanks Bentley," Sly repeated, "I appreciate your help. Well, I better go."

"Oh and Sly," whispered Bentley, "Just remember not to cause too much mayhem. You don't want Raleigh to root us out before it's necessary. And remember the blue auras-you can probably climb most of the pipes and ropes around here. Also I believe Raleigh is using a treasure key system common across the Fiendish Five security. If you see any of those it is probably wise to collect them-they could help you avoid obstacles. Good luck!"

"Cheers pal," said Sly, "See you later."

He switched off the radio channel and the device dimmed. Quickly he slotted it back into his satchel and kneeled down, ready to sprint. Time for action, he thought.

The walrus guard was still standing below in the compound, completely oblivious to the conversation that had just gone on. He was about to get a surprise. Silently Sly skimmed across the platform and poised on the edge of the ladder railing. Gently pointing his toes he hopped lightly down the rungs, allowing his stream-lined physique to guide him once again. With a slightly wet but quiet flump he landed on a patch of grass concealed by the thorns. Slowly and carefully he edged around the bushes and peered down the path, towards the gate and through the search lights. He noticed a pattern that seemed to emerge; they seemed to sweep in arcs around the area and at certain times, just for a few seconds, they left gaps just big enough to slip through.

If he could manage that without being seen it could all go smoothly. He inched forwards and pushed himself upwards. He was now at the edge of the field of light. On the opposite side the walrus hadn't noticed him because he was leaning back and yawning stupidly. It was his best chance.

Like a spear of lightening Sly pounced and soared towards a gap in the lights. He narrowly skimmed by the first beam and just missed toppling into a second as he managed to stay balanced on his toes. Then as another gap opened he dived for it and rolled into the bare patch as the one behind him closed. But just as he was about to bounce through the final gap for a surprising blow to the guard, he tripped on a stone and fell to the ground, right in the path of a third light. Instantly the siren blared and the alarm box began to wail loudly as the walrus whipped around.

Catching sight of Sly he grinned dimly and grabbed all the throwing stars from his belt. Sly only had a few seconds to take this in before he twirled out of the light beam and dodged a chatter of gun fire. His heart racing, Sly turned. The hulking brute was wielding the deadly disks and bearing down upon him. Behind him the alarm continued to blare with a resounding screech. _Big mistake_, Sly thought, _the whole island will know I'm here soon!_

The walrus was now standing over Sly, leering down at him as he made ready to hurl one of the discs right into his back: oh, no you don't, thought Sly. He launched himself at the brute and over his head, past him and towards the alarm box. The walrus also whirled stupidly around and flung three discs over his shoulders at Sly. Sly turned and the discs pinged of the alarm box, sending orange sparks flying. Enraged, the walrus quickly launched more discs and they pinged of the cliffs and a statue, creating more sparks as Sly danced around his head. Finally the walrus completely lost his cool and ran at the raccoon while hurling about ten discs at once.

Unfortunately this mistake cost him. Sly easily ducked under the oncoming blades and leapt forwards at the temporarily distracted walrus. By the time he released what was happening, it was too late. Down came the cane on his head and he keeled over, unconscious and dazed, by the alarm. Meanwhile the alarm still was belting out the siren call and Sly, having had enough of the infernal device, gave it a whack also and it sparked and immediately crumpled amid a shower of flame. Then with a small pop of electricity the siren wailed to a halt, the lights flickered off and the compound was silent. Turing from the prone figure behind him and the wreckage of the alarm, Sly heard the creak as the gate swung open. It was rather a security floor. Without wasting time he darted through the gap in the rock and to the path beyond.

The rain was still barrelling down as hard on the other side of the stone arch. Sly now had a totally different view of the isle. The area where he now stood was far more windswept and barren. He was perched a descent height above the massive fresh water lake he had seen from the gate. The only thing that was stopping him plunging into its dark surface was a narrow ledge of loose dirt, stone and gravel which formed a thin path clinging desperately to the cliff and twisting to his left into the stormy sky. A rise formed a hump which rose just high enough that he could not see what lay further along the path.

Here only a few shrubs and ferns grew and the occasional lantern flared. Even though the rain was heavy it was not hard to see far. In fact Sly could discern the grove of ragged trees on the far side of the lake. Below the cliff top trees was a thin waterfall that trickled slowly into a series of thundering cascades which eventually met the surface of the lake. Unlike the sea just beyond the cliff line, the lake's surface was unusually calm. But that was not the only strange feature of the lake; a hulking dark shape could be glimpsed in the distance. It swayed and rocked on the surface of the lake but remained in one place. Sly could see more wrecks scattered about the huge wooden shape, but they were much smaller. Then as he inched over for a closer look he could make out what it was; a huge wooden hulled ship rose from the lake.

Startled and amazed by the gargantuan apparition, Sly lightly ran closely over the loose layer of sand that created the cliff top path. He could now get a clearer view. It was not an ordinary vessel. It was far bigger than any normal vessel in size and was at least as twice as large as a container ship. It was also composed of wooden planks, metals and stone. Several towers and turrets as well as a scattering of small buildings dotted the deck and were scattered haphazardly around the place while some even clung to the sides of the hull. Some of the buildings bore signs of being well weathered, such as moss and climbing vines while others seemed newer and as if they were just added to the massive jigsaw.

It seemed as if it was a massive floating headquarters, constantly changed and fitted for whatever needs. Sly suspected that it was also were Raleigh was happily ensconced, due to the grave yard of ships that were scattered about it. It was rather ironic that Raleigh would create a headquarters to look like a giant ship, except that his ship didn't move. Lastly, as well as some rather noticeable gashes in the timber hull, supposedly caused by the rough weather, and also seemingly in repair, a bloated blimp like craft floated above the whole lopsided construction.

It was the most metallic object on the giant barge and seemed to float just above the highest wooden tower. A large yellow dome glowed brightly on the face of it and tubes and other piping spouted from the sides, belching steam. A large weather vane, which looked something like a fin, jutted out from the rear of the craft. Then as if to make it more crazy looking, a tremendous spout rise from the peak of it which was shooting a torrent of steamy looking gas into the sky. It looked almost like vaporised water. The device actually seemed to resemble a giant whale. Then with dawning realisation, Sly realised what it must be; the spout spitting the gas out of the blimp must be an outlet for some kind of storm machine. The gas certainly seemed to be causing a heavy downpour in the ejection area. It would reveal Raleigh's sinister technology and why it never stopped raining on the Isle of Wrath.

Below the airship, several more port holes and windows scattered about the place glowed alight with the same yellow light. Vaguely Sly could even see some figures moving about on the multilayered deck. If this truly was the heart of Raleigh's operation, then it would be well guarded. He certainly seemed prepared for anything. Some tremendous cannon adorned the left flank of the ship and several more turrets were mounted here and there, like a futuristic pirate galleon. Raleigh also seemed to have been clever with the currents around the lake. The tides of the sea must have been thought to run straight into the lake and would, as such bringing all the wrecked ships into the bay as well, making them easy to plunder as well as hiding them from eyes on the coast.

Not only did the mastermind have a menagerie of weapons and sinister, weather making machines in the palm of his hand, but a reliable source of wealth. He supposed that the storm machine and the weather were responsible for the wrecked ships and how Raleigh had a continual supply of wealth. Well if he had anything to do with it then the machine wouldn't be running much longer. He was determined to restore the seas to their original state and ensure Raleigh was never again a hidden menace to sailors. Looking again with remorse at the wrecked ships, Sly turned determinedly, with the one thought in his head and raced towards the rise, making for the path to the boat.

Sly crested the hill that ran parallel to the distant fortress and without further ado, raced down the other side. Bobbing along in his vision he could see the boat coming closer, but as he twisted around it became slightly obscured by a series of boulders and rocks which clung to the gradually widening path. The piercing yellow lights of the port holes gleamed through the rain. Sly took his eyes away from the boat and fixed his attention on the path. It bobbed slightly again and then widened out to a breadth of about four metres with some grass, pebbles and a few ragged ferns dotted about.

More burnished iron fences appeared along the path and more drift wood signs grew up from the path like trees, but Sly didn't stop to read them. He was concentrating on the task ahead. As he passed another lantern blazing on the edge of the cliff side of the path, Sly could see that the drop had lessened to only a few metres and the calmer waters of the lake could be glanced, slowly frothing and swishing. Dark green weeds could be seen pulsing just below the crystalline surface and polished stones rested on the sandy bed. Even below that Sly could glimpse the faintest gleam of gold, silver and bronze. Gold coins, silver encrusted goblets and bronze plates encrusted the bed of the lake, supposedly from the shattered chests aboard the ships; Raleigh's ill-gotten wealth.  
His gaze was only wrenched away from the alluring lake bed treasures when his foot came into contact with a hard, metal object.

A shot of searing pain pulsed up his toe and he turned back to the side of the path to see what had caused the pain. Flumping down onto the grass as he cradled his bruised foot, Sly saw a small metal cone, about a metre high and secured with fat bolts. A stem sprouted from the ground and held up the cone which had a clear dome inserted into the pinnacle. The dome reflected the light from a nearby lantern and it revealed a small blue button just below the dome. Seeing no other controls on the device and curious to see what the device did, for it did not look like a security mechanism of Raleigh's, Sly prodded the button with a finger. Immediately the device gave out a whispering bleep and a few clicks sounded.

Then a final whirring sound occurred and a blue apparition composed of blue light rays bloomed from the dome. It appeared to be a holographic like image and floated in the air just above the device on an array of light. It formed Bentley's face and then his body appeared, creating a miniature image.

"Good job Sly," said the hologram of Bentley, "You have discovered my first check-point node."

The image flickered and wavered as Sly stared at it questioningly.

"Using my remote control helicopters I have placed several of these nodes throughout the island. Whenever you see one of these devices throughout Raleigh's hide out you can activate it as you have just done and my hologram will appear. In each node I have programmed what information I could gather from my remote-control-helicopter camera surveillance-hopefully this will assist you. Each node also contains certain locations of collectables, bottles and keys I have noted stashed in Raleigh's compound. I am sure the keys will be needed to eventually access the storm machine."

Bentley's hologram disappeared and a surveillance image of the blimp like storm machine appeared. Bentley's voice still issued from a speaker in the base of the device.

"Yes Sly, it is a storm machine," said Bentley's disembodied voice as Sly raised his eye brows at the confirmation. "That infernal device is why it never stops raining around here. Oh and by the way, I suspect that is where Raleigh is hiding out. We'll eventually have to put the storm machine out of commission to get at him. And be careful - my scanners indicate large pulses of electricity pulsing from the blimp; there will probably have to be a power source to destroy. Good luck then pal, and remember that you can use these nodes to help retrace your steps. I have placed them where the guards are shore not to notice them. We are also at the ready to personally assist you, if necessary - over and out."

The hologram flickered again and disappeared into the node. Then another ray of blue light bloomed up again and the familiar caricature of the raccoon's head blossomed into being. It slowly began to rotate on the spot, creating a marker that lit the path through the sheets of rain. It was clear that Bentley had meant it to be seen from a great distance. Appreciating his friend's resourcefulness, Sly stepped back, gave the device a final glance and sped further along the sandy path.

Sly ran for some way before anything else interesting occurred. Just a few metres after he had left the shining beacon device, he saw a flare of flame momentarily appear around a bend in the path. Making sure to remain soundless he scurried forwards and peered over the rise to see where the plume had come from. His heart sank a few paces. Another stocky walrus guard stood over the hill, near the edge of the crumbling path. Like the one with the great hammer, this walrus bore overalls, a yellow shirt, great floppy laced shoes and a red cap upon his shaved head.

But unlike his fellow the walrus had in his hand a slightly rusted blow torch with a hose winding back from its end to a gas drum placed by a burnished iron fence. Another lantern lit up the walrus's work, which apparently was mending some kind of rusted patch on the burnished fence. The flame had come from the torch held in his hand and every now and then, between when the walrus grabbed a wrench or spanner from a nearby tool box, it emitted another burst of fire over the metallic surface. The light bounced of the wet surface of the ferns and rocks, cutting through the night towards the distant boat. Keeping his eyes trained on the walrus, Sly began to edge forward, hoping to remain unnoticed.

From the pinnacle of the rain drenched outcrop, Sly scrambled silently down the slope and made to inch past the walrus's back. Now he was closer he could see that he also wore a leather helmet over his cap, fastened with metal buckles and with a thick pair of welding goggles stitched to the brim. With the goggles down, the walrus resembled a giant fly. But while he was preoccupied on the welding job on the fence, he did not notice the raccoon. Crossing the fingers of his left hand behind his back for luck, Sly now faced the difficult task of inching between the narrow gap of the walrus's back and the moist cliff. Clutching the polished shaft of his cane with a sweaty hand, Sly began to move between the gaps.

But just as he was about to hop from between the gap and onwards onto the path, the walrus sat up and scratched his nose. Unfortunately the action meant that he caught a glimpse of Sly from the corner of his eye. With a flare of surprise on his ruddy face, the walrus, with torch in hand, swung around and flung himself at the raccoon. Sly clumsily ducked aside and dodged the swinging blows the walrus aimed with the torch and he smacked into the rock. The angered brute lumbered back to his feet and turned to Sly as he danced along the fence line.

This time he wrenched his torch upwards and gave it such a tug that the hose snapped and a trail of gray gas fumed from the broken cord. Ignoring the hissing gas, the walrus whipped the torch handle at Sly and twirled around dizzily as Sly ducked again. With a final grunt of rage, the walrus lifted the torch to his lips and gave a tremendous puff. A searing tongue of flame shot from the torch handle and singed Sly's whiskers as he toppled back towards the ground.  
Letting an alarmed yell escape his mouth, Sly rolled out of the way as the walrus swung down the torch and let out another burst of fire.

His great bushy tail flowed behind him as he turned and fled onwards down the path. Even though it dented his pride, Sly knew that it was sometimes more sensible to run and live to fight another day. That was another of Bentley's lessons. He heard the walrus bellow loudly and thunder after him, giving chase. Sly barrelled frantically along the path and the vessel in the background continually bobbed in and out of view as he puffed along. Taking another turn in the path he looked up to see two towering waterfalls pouring down the cliffs and then tumbling over the path. The icy cold torrent rushed forth over what had been a cobblestone path and then swept over the edge to meet the diamond like surface of the great lake.

Someone had nailed a crudely placed and crooked wooden board walk into the stones that stood amidst the water. In some places even this had been smashed into shards by the raging current and boulders had scattered themselves between the gaps, like so many stepping stones. Sly readied himself for the perilous plunge as he and his pursuer raced onwards.

The walrus had gained some ground during the later part of the pursuit and now flung his torch just metres from Sly's back. With a wild swipe the torch caught a single strap of Sly's back pack and it was torn asunder, swinging from his shoulders. Sly swiftly seized the errant strap and looped it back over his shoulder as he caught the few papers that fluttered from it. But as he leapt onto the rickety board walk, Carmelita's file slipped from the bag and soared over Sly's snatching fingers, before coming to rest on the opposite bank. Keeping his mind fixed on recovering the file, Sly danced over a series if boulders that interrupted the path and covered a second expanse of board walk. The walrus clumsily pursued Sly and as he tripped over a boulder, splashing into the cold water, he lashed out with the torch and hooked Sly at the ankle. Sly gave a grunt of pain and thumped hard onto the rough bed of the falls, with the water roaring about his ears. Unhooking the torch from his ankle, Sly flipped upwards and turned to face the walrus.

He also rose from the water and glared at Sly. His bulk dripping, the walrus launched his whole body at Sly and swung a punch at his chest, catching him on the arm and flinging him onto the final stretch of board walk. Painfully Sly crawled along the chipped wood and dragged his body onto the bank. But he barely gained a single breath before he felt himself being yanked into the air and swung a foot above the ground. He twirled like a rag doll and found himself staring into the ugly mug of the walrus. He leered horribly at having caught the raccoon and raised the torch to his lips again, about to finish Sly.

Then sudden realisation gushed into Sly's head and he remembered he still held the trusty Cooper cane. With a sarcastic smile on his face he gave his wrist a sudden jerk and thwacked the walrus full in the face. The walrus gave a gulp of shock and groaned, relinquishing Sly and letting him fall to the ground. Sly seized the fallen file and shoved it into his pack as he darted out of the way and the walrus toppled face first onto the ground, tossing aside the torch, with a thunderous thump. Wasting no more time, Sly rushed away from the fallen guard before he could come to and ran down another hill, making for a distant, burnished metal gate embedded in the rock. There had already been enough distractions.

Bentley and Murray dozed lazily in the cosy interior of the Cooper van. It had been only forty minutes since Sly's exit but it felt like longer. Both knew what the other was thinking. They were both worried about Sly. Neither of them dared to think of what might happen if Sly were caught. They couldn't imagine a life in the Cooper gang without him. It would be like living in an incomplete family; somehow strange and odd. Neither of them wanted to lose that either. Both treasured the family the three of them had created amidst injustice and quelled at the thought of the one thing they clung onto being torn away from them. Bentley with his parents killed in an attack by criminals, much like Sly and Murray with his parents gone in a car crash.

Their lives snuffed out in but an instant. This journey they had undertaken meant something for all of them. Redemption and triumph over the unjust and malicious forces that had torn their lives apart. It was symbolic of the even brighter future they might someday have. But it was a long and winding road along the path of destiny, and many steps lay before them until they reached that time. Together, as a team, they would complete that journey.

Bentley had never really known about the origins of his family. He had had barely any space in which to enjoy his comfortable life before his nemeses had swept it away. He still remembered the terrible face of the man who had killed his parents. Bentley only retained a few scraps of information about the man but he clung onto them - one day he would catch up with him. He had remembered his name had been Brendan Stringer, nefarious crime lord of an association known only as Vortex. There had seemed no reasoning for the malicious man's attack. All Bentley had ever learned was that it had had something to do with a strange invention his father had once worked on. Stringer had been determined to seize it. The only thing Bentley remembered about the device was this; his father had called it The Spearhead._  
_  
Carmelita surveyed her surrounds again, swinging her head from side to side, scanning the drenched promontory. Her party stood atop the narrow strip of rock on which the gravel road led to the isle. The small convoy of vehicles idled by, waiting for her command. Giving a final glance to her commanding officer she snapped out a few lines of rapid French and strode to the head of the group. Two of the vehicles broke away and turned back towards the mainland, while two more trundled on towards the island to scout ahead. Tipping her hat to the driver, Carmelita sprung into the passenger side of the remaining vehicle and murmured a final sentence to herself, this time in her native tongue of Spanish:

"I'm still coming Sly - I haven't forgotten you." She sniffed and fell silent.

Agent Reptile stood alone in the rain. His radio remained in his breast pocket. Parting the drenched ferns he trod his way gently over the sodden earth. Rounding a boulder he saw a faint light and heard a distant whirring sound. It sounded like a generator of some sort. He adjusted the glasses he wore and rubbed his balding scalp - he had started balding at an earlier age. It appeared that his son was following, already without his hair. The sheets of rain revealed the van to him, the van he had seen back outside Paris.

The Cooper gang was here and Sly Cooper himself was already gone. He was too late to stop them. The plan would have to be changed. But it was probably for the best. He had distanced himself from his son for a reason: he deserved the chance to prove himself as his father's son. He deserved a life without the treachery and danger his father had caused. The invention he had created. Agent Reptile turned the radio on at last.

"Destination – Wales," replied his contact, "Apprehend the Cooper gang?"

"No, it is too late for that," said Agent Reptile, "The plan has been changed."

"Change of plan confirmed," said the contact, "What is your action now?"

"I must wait and see," said Agent Reptile, "This is probably for the best."

"Agreed," the contact replied calmly, "Proceed as necessary."

"I will," Agent Retile said shortly, "I must ensure their safety from my mistakes."

The radio died. He crouched behind the boulder and waited. He must bide his time. There would be a moment when he should reveal himself, but now was not it. Too much was at stake for him to fail.

**This is Chapter 3 (Chapter 6 overall) of Part 2 of 13.  
At this point I will start to introduce a few familiar characters from the other games, as well as some new faces too.  
You can expect Chapter 7 in about two weeks or eighteen days. Don't worry, all will be revealed when the story is concluded!  
I hope this chapter made for an okay read - I'm still practising with my novel writing. Happy reading!**


	8. Chapter 7 - Clues to the Key

**Chapter Seven: Clues to the Key.**

**Versailles, France: 7:45 PM.**

**Note: Sorry this took a bit of time to update, but here it is. Chapter Eight will appear a lot faster - in the next week. Enjoy reading this!**

The old badger coughed. He stifled a sniff with a faded handkerchief and brushed some grime from his greying moustache. Raising a fat, brown cigar to his mouth and giving it a large puff, he sent several billowing smoke rings into the air. He hacked again, a little harder this time and sneezed loudly, accidently dropping his cigar into the waste paper basket. Rubbing his nose he adjusted his thick belt around his plump stomach and brushed a hand through his brown hair. He rapped his knuckles on the desk, jangling a pair of handcuffs at his waist, staring at his office door, as if waiting for something.

After a few more seconds he lifted his feet onto the desk and casually spun his chair from side to side. Then a swift rapping sounded from the other side of door, though the badger could not see who it was as the blind was down. Quickly he sat up again and grunted a reply to enter. As the door opened, the light from the corridor outside lit up the dim office and it shone off a plaque resting on the badger's desk which read; Inspector Barkley - Chief of Interpol. It showed the loving polish it received every evening.

Inspector Barkley trained his eyes on the man who entered. He motioned for the officer, clad in a navy blue uniform and cap, to sit in the chair before his desk. A Labrador sat in the chair and nervously met the gaze of his superior. Sergeant Higgins had always been a rather shy man. Even though it had been a difficult quality in his training, Barkley had believed it was a valuable quality in an officer; nobody would ever suspect him. He raised his left eyebrow to prompt Higgins into speech, but he remained silent, fidgeting nervously. Feeling the session was getting nowhere fast; Inspector Barkley coughed again and spoke in a rasping voice, with a hoarse undertone.

"Good day to you Higgins," he said, "Please, what would you like to tell me? With the Cooper case and the Fiendish Five on my hands at the moment, I'm rather busy. I also still have to watch my trainee, Miss Fox, while on the field."

"Ah, ah yes sir," stammered Higgins, "Funnily enough I actually have news on both counts. Miss Fox confided with me before she left. She also has sent some current news on her pursuit of Sly Cooper."

"Very good, very good," Inspector Barkley muttered satisfactorily, "I am glad to hear it. I hope the news is positive? I have had some doubts about Carmelita's enthusiasm and obsession with Sly Cooper, but she is reliable. I hope she comes out of this mess okay. I have trained her at my best."

"I assure you," said Higgins, "Very touching sir. Yes, the news is relatively positive. Apparently she has finally obtained the trail of Cooper once again. She is now somewhere along the south coast of Wales with a select group of officers. She believes Cooper is also tracking the Fiendish Five for his own reasons and, if we are lucky, we might even be able to make some extra arrests."

"Wales, eh," said Barkley, "Interesting, interesting - that must mean Cooper is after Sir Raleigh - the mad man has been a headache in those parts for years. According to British intelligence that was his last known position. On some blasted chunk of rock known as the Isle of Wrath. It would be a triumph to finally have him behind bars."

"Oh indeed it would," Higgins replied, getting into the swing of things. "I would personally like to see them all behind bars. After the death of my father, while on service at the hands of some villain, I detest any such fiends. I guess there is motivation there for both Cooper and Miss Fox I suppose."

"Yes," replied the Inspector, "I would surmise that to be correct. But even though we ourselves, and probably Carmelita also sympathise with Cooper, we must put him behind bars. He and his gang after all are still thieves. We can still be more sympathetic I think though compared with the five. In fact I have their dossier in my desk. Wait just a minute."

Inspector Barkley leant over and tugged open the third draw down in his desk, which was stuffed with many papers. Rifling through the many folders he halted and seized a file from the far end of the draw. Then he sat back in his chair and displayed the file to Higgins. Quickly he flipped through the contents and extracted several papers. Placing the file back down on the desk, he spread the papers over his desk organiser. Higgins leant over, slightly curiously and eyed the documents. Barkley snatched one up and began to read some of the text aloud.

"Ah-ha" crowed Barkley, "As I thought. Cooper and both of his two friends, Bentley the turtle and Murray the hippo, were born right here in Paris. All of their parents deceased and all sent to live in an orphanage at the age of five. I also believe Mr Bentley here has some association with the infamous leader of the criminal mind Vortex, known as Brendan Stringer. Yes, I think we are dealing with an unusual pack of thieves."

Barkley was unaware that this was not all true. At least the parts about the orphanage and Sly's friends – but he would find that out later from a certain old bird.

"Quite so sir," said Sergeant Higgins, "This is quite one of the most unusual cases we have had. Also, if you don't mind me saying so sir, I think Miss Fox has formed some kind of almost romantic connection with Cooper. We must make sure that does not hinder anything."

"Really?" questioned Barkley, "Of all my years of training her, I never would have suspected. I may be almost sixty years now, old and shrewd, but I would not have thought it. Still, I know her well enough to think that she would not dessert Interpol. She is very much devoted to her job. I guess such devotion deserves a reward. I have been tossing up whether to promote her."

"A worthy decision that would be," said Higgins, a slightly smitten look coming across his face. "She really is something else. She is the only one I have ever seen who could handle a shock pistol that way."

"Now, now Higgins," teased the Inspector, "Am I to guess you have feelings for her to? This is becoming rather complicated wouldn't you say?"

"Oh no sir, I mean yes sir," stammered Higgins, "I mean that Miss Fox does not have feelings for me. I am only interested in the case and her prowess of course!"

"Alright," said Barkley, "Calm down-I was only teasing. Of course I know you to be devoted to your work. In fact now that we have had a decent discussion on the subject, I have a mission for you."

"Thankyou sir," said Higgins, "I am honoured. What do you wish to assign?"

"Just a simple order really," said Barkley, "Carmelita has probably already filled you in somewhat. I need you and your inspection team to assist Miss Fox on this mission. Judging by the way this case is coming I would say that back up is necessary to make sure none of these fiendish thugs slip through our fingers. As soon as is necessary, I would suggest you make tracks for Wales. Interpol has never failed yet and we must capture Cooper. Good luck Higgins - you have my thoughts going with the both of you."

"Thank you very much Inspector Barkley," said Higgins gratefully. "I promise you my team and I shall be onto it right away. Carmelita will not be victim to anything those thugs might do if I can help it, so long for now sir."

Higgins finally sat up and raised himself onto his feet. He stood still for a moment before turning to the door and swinging it open. He stepped outwards and strode down the corridor: letting the door swung shut behind him, it gently thudding into the wooden door frame. Inspector Barkley sat back and thought to himself. Cooper was after the Fiendish Five – for whatever reason – and now they were too.

"What an interesting case this shall be," Barkley said to himself, "Maybe Higgins does feel for Miss Fox. Either way this shall turn out to be one of Interpol's biggest triumphs. The eventual capture of Sly Cooper and the Fiendish Five! Carmelita really shall deserve her promotion she has been wanting. I really must think of giving it to her."

Inspector Barkley sat back on his chair, again placing his leather shoes atop the desk, and a vague smile of satisfaction crossed his face. Feeling like another cigar he looked around for his lighter and scratched his head. The box must have been put back in his drawer. He was just about to check his top most draw, where he usually kept them, when he jumped back suddenly and swore loudly. The cigar he had dropped into the waste paper basket earlier had just set the papers alight. It was one of those days.

**The Isle of Wrath, Wales: 8:56 PM.  
**  
Carmelita sat and waited in the passenger seat of the van. The driver beside her was tense and hugging the wheel, attempting to manoeuvre the van safely across the dangerously narrow promontory. Two of the vehicles had already reached the gap in the rising cliff which loomed ahead of them. The wind and rain was relentlessly battering the exterior of the vehicle and hindered the convoy's progress. Carmelita could only just now make out an end to the narrow road and a steel gate beyond it, seemingly hanging open as if blasted apart.

She wondered at how the Cooper gang had ever managed to make their way past this point. It was truly treacherous. Still, they must succeed for the good of many innocent people. She had also promised Inspector Barkley she would succeed. She was determined to keep that promise: for Barkley and Higgins - for whom she had always nursed a soft spot. She wanted to complete her training and make them proud. It was time to prove herself and her skills. She would do whatever it took to halt the treachery of the villains ahead of her. She thought determinedly of her parents and smiled. She was also sure Sly still lay somewhere in her future, waiting for her too. It was time to go where her instincts took her.

#

Higgins pushed his cap back over his head, as it had slipped down his forehead and with a sigh, stared across the landscape ahead of him. Only a few minutes after the briefing at the covert Interpol headquarters in Versailles he had assembled his inspection team and in a matter of hours made for the English coast across the channel. He now stood at port in London, the night lights and noises of the streets surrounding him. His small team of officers were gathered behind him, ready for orders and assembling the vehicles and equipment they had shipped.

He was ready to begin his mission. In just another couple of hours they could be in Wales and set about scouring the coast. The sooner they could meet up with Inspector Fox's team, the better. He was keen to see her. His life had not been very prosperous or exciting since the death of his parents. He had been forced to live at the most meagre standards and could never have afforded anything he really wanted. It was a miserable prospect. He thought to himself how the world always seemed to be cruel and unkind. It was simply full of more sadness and maliciousness - sometimes more so than good.

Sly Cooper was proof of that fact. Even when malevolence was conquered, more would take its place. Obstacles were always placed in one's path; the death of his own parents and of many others. The villains that pursued them and the objects they desired. Such devices like the mysterious Spearhead associated with the original family of the McShellsons and sought after by the Vortex. The blood line from which came Bentley the turtle and which had staggered Interpol for years. The torment of the world made Higgins feel sad at the misery it caused. But maybe one day that misery would be deafened.

That was his motive for joining Interpol. Higgins had a feeling that Cooper was a symbol of hope, even though a thief himself, who bought at least a ray of light to the world. He hitched a smile to his face and sniffed heavily. There was work to be done and he had a mission to complete. Hopefully at the end of it all, the world would be that much happier.

#

Murray and Bentley tensed slightly as they watched the monitor read out mounted on the computer panel. After an hour or so of just sitting around in a rather bored fashion, and with no apparent distress from Sly, they had both been started into a state of consciousness again when several bleeps had issued from the computer. Quickly shaking out of their reverie and eyeing the screen closely they could see that a bunch of little red dots were making their way slowly towards their position, inching across the map of the island. At a word from Murray, Bentley had twiddled a knob and a satellite image of the spot had been drawn up.

Using the radar dish to scan even closer inwards they had observed a small trail of what looked like Interpol vehicles edging their way along the promontory and towards the isle. Both looked very tense and stared nervously at each other, worried that Carmelita had regained the trail so soon. It looked as though the pair of them might have more than Raleigh's thugs to deal with at some point. Bentley in particular was nervous that their mission might be thwarted and all of them captured long before they could complete their common goal; that of gaining redemption for the wrongs done to them before they had met at the orphanage. They all dearly wanted some day have a better life without the shadow of their enemies lurking just behind them. It looked like it might not be as easy as they had all hoped.

#

Sly had finally come up against yet another obstacle - another substantial obstacle; he sighed in frustration and amusement; you could never be without them he thought. Yet another of Raleigh's infernal security gates stood before him and it looked even more impenetrable than the last three. Looking around the area sharply as he strolled down the mossy hill and up towards the burnished gate, he looked for any of the blue sparks. It seemed like another ideal opportunity to optimise the beginnings of the thieving skills he one day hoped to learn from the completed Thievious Raccoonus. Much to his disappointment however, no blue sparks appeared anywhere in the vicinity. But as he stared aimlessly around, his eyes caught something that hung about two feet above his head, suspended from a metal bean that ran between the two cliffs supporting the gate.

It was a twisted wooden hook, painted a faded yellow and obviously once meant for supporting a lantern. Glancing down at the cane he clutched, an idea clicked into place. He should have realised that his father would want him to discover some of his own potential by himself; it was what made the Coopers unique. Considering his prowess and dexterity in agility, he would be able to use the cane to swing from the hook and across, even over the gate. The point of carrying the cane for each member of the noble line was to hone his or her own skills to add to their unique abilities. To focus and bring out their personal traits and emphasise the qualities they possessed. It made sense as to why the Coopers had altered the fabled tool over the many centuries. It was time for Sly to begin his own menagerie of skills.

Sly tensed his body and made ready for the leap, keeping his eyes trained at the tip of the hook and just over the gate. He twisted his fingers and fists, including the grip he now held on the cane. He slowly inched backwards and crouched, ready to launch himself like a rocket. He felt his spine retract backwards, thinking of himself like a giant spring. Then with a final flick of his head and twitch from his foot, he let the pressure burst from beneath him.

It felt amazing. His body suddenly flowed with a power and speed he never knew he had possessed. He thought that was why the Coopers honed their skills-so as to bring out the best in their abilities. Like a bolt of lightning he streaked down the slope once again and leapt from the ground, sailing in an arc towards the hook. He swung out his cane with a flash of yellow and blue and it snagged the hook perfectly in the crook of the point. Up arched his thin, blue clad body and with his tail whipping behind him he made a perfect half circle and soared away from the hook and over the gate.

With the wind whipping around him in cold blasts he felt his toes skim the burnished metal and he was over. In a final flip and twist in mid-air he landed softly and precisely on the grass, completely steady and about two metres from the other side of the gate. Standing up and looking around he marvelled at the feet he had just performed. He had astounded himself at what he was capable. It had felt terrific. Making a mental note to use the trick again when he could, Sly turned, smiling to himself, and pattered across the grass and further along the winding path.

The sanded trail took another twisting turn beyond a weathered outcrop of mossy boulders and arched around to eventually open onto a low slung pathway. The scattering of rocks and craggy stones melted away into the rain and now a wide expanse of hard earth made the path that cleared the way to the banks of the lake and Raleigh's boat. The cleared area of the path was now almost entirely taken over by a moist coat of vibrantly green grass.

More lanterns mounted on wooden stakes sprouted like strange plants from the grass, spreading their light yonder. Towards the left side of the path a crumbling lip melted into a shallow pool of crystal clear sea water, with many small brooks, tributaries and eddies running into it. A shallow basin was formed from more moss covered stone, encasing the water from the distant sea. The path rose and fell in earthen humps by it and the occasional stone sat just below the surface. Even though it was only about a metre deep and the bottom could easily be seen, Sly kept his distance, keeping to the center area of the path where the mud would not slip him up. Funnily enough he had never learned to swim, even though he was a master thief, and as such he was rather uncomfortable when it came to deep or treacherous waters. He made another mental note top learn the basic strokes. He would probably get more lectures from Bentley for water safety.

The other side of the path garnered a rather different view. Like the left side it gently sloped away and downwards but to a further extent so that the pool was deeper and the rocks there more jagged. The outcrop of earthen stone was also slightly higher, raised further upwards towards the sky, which just concealed Raleigh's hide out beyond it. The upper side of the storm machine, glowing through the night, could just be seen. Sly turned his eyes again and became determinedly fixed on actually reaching and destroying the monstrosity. As he sped along, another handful of iron fences rolled along the banks and hemmed in the ferns and palm trees that grew in clumps, fighting against the violent winds. But now a new phenomenon was occurring.

A low hanging white steam floated about the path. But it was not natural steam-that which was made of evaporated water-but artificially created steam issuing from the bowels of Raleigh's fortress. The steam ran from rusted metal pipes and cisterns, of darkened copper, that erupted like tremendous tree trunks from the ground. Several huge bolts and pressure wheels adorned the twisted surface of the pipes and served to make the random devices look only more obscene. Clearly the pressure being pumped through the cisterns was great. With the unusual patterns in which they ran by the path they seemed to make a path all the way along the isle. To Sly it looked as if they served to transport a source of power or energy for use in the inner workings of the criminal mind. Who knew what infernal machine needed the power to operate its sinister purposes. The pipes might deserve some attention later on-wards.

When Sly came to a hulking culmination of more twisted pipes and cisterns, he halted by the clump of tortured metal and leant against it, breathing heavily at his resent labours, chest rising slowly up and down in a gentle rhythm. As he took the break, he observed the path which stretched forth again and in a distance of about three hundred metres or so, disappeared into a final crevice in the rock. This presumably emptied itself onto the banks of the lake and provided an entry way to the fortress beyond. He gave a happy sigh of relief at knowing he was nearly there. Perhaps next time, depending on the time in which it came, it would be easier. Maybe Bentley could even persuade Murray to take the van. It would be far more comfortable. At least there might not be all the dampness of the rain and the bedraggled plants.

Choosing to give his friends a brief assurance of his safety and current success, Sly flicked back the latch of his satchel and retrieved his Binoc-u-com. With the familiar mechanism he scanned the area, raising the view screen to his eyes. Using the focusing device mounted on the computer chips he twirled a dial and the screen flickered and scanned inwards. He could clearly see what lay before the gap in the rocks. The low slung earthen path, lined with the occasional lantern or fence, traipsed onwards but rose up slightly at about six feet around the clear pool to about a hundred metres from the crevice. The expanse of ground was actually spread in very tight security. Sly had been unable to see it through the sheets of driving rain. Perhaps that was deliberate.

About fifty metres of the path were surrounded on all sides by a single burnished iron fence which ran on the edge by the pool. A series of separately spaced lanterns also ran along the fence and helped to light the compound. It seemed a final obstacle had been placed on the path before the fortress could be reached. No less than six light towers rose on their concrete stacks about the path, three on either side and each sweeping a blazing trail of light in great arcs. Each also had a machine firing like mechanism attached to the tapering roof. Sly also supposed that each tower could this time boost laser security, being so close to the heart of the operation. More ropes were strung between the towers, bridging the gaps over the path six metres below.

Pipes, cisterns and gauges also sprouted about the towers along with a few brave clumps of low slung plants. Even the occasional sea side daisy rose from the withered lawn, parched by the light of the spot lights. At the far end another gate blocked the ten metre expanse to the crevice, beyond which no more security appeared, as any interruptions would probably be snared in the spot lights. Anyway, Sly had failed to notice three other obstacles.

Half concealed by the shadow of the wooden decks encircling the towers, another alarm box sat bolted into the ground, just before the far gate. Again it would be linked to the circuitry of the lights and lasers, and again, inconveniently, it was right behind a wall of security. Again Sly would have to trust his luck to get through. The bright red of the dome gleamed, as if taunting his quandary. But as if destroying the device was not enough, another and even burlier walrus stood silently in the middle of the compound. He was alone but boosted a whole array of throwing discs and stars, each of their deadly teeth gleaming. He was in the same ilk as the first walrus.

He stood in a patch not surveyed by the lights and was perfectly positioned to see or thwart any attack-for he would only have to launch a disc and not even take a step. That was a pain. Sly particularly hated those walruses. Finally, just before the compound, a channel had been dug into the ground and created a moat, running with the clear water of the pool and filled with five tremendous waterwheels. The series of giant cogs were tethered to pipes and cables which seemed to generate a form of hydro power. But besides their further use in powering machinery they also created another barrier. Each wheel was lined with a deadly set of iron spikes, slowly dipping in and out of the waters as they revolved.

Even though the placement seemed absurd it was also clever and almost economical. It helped block the path and served a practical use. Still, if Sly had his way it wouldn't stay that way. He sharpened the reception on the radio channel and the familiar visual screens popped up. Bentley's face appeared on the left, along with his own on the right screen.

"Another difficulty Sly – is your position compromised?" Bentley asked questioningly. "Perhaps we should be quick about it. My recent surveillance has just observed that Interpol and Carmelita are already here and not far from our position. You should aim to move quickly. When they get here I am not sure how long we can hold them away."

"Not to worry," said Sly, "There is no real problem, though I am startled to hear that Interpol are so close. Just try and do the best you can - I will be as quick as is possible. With luck we can be away within a few hours. I'm sure with your gadgets and brains; along with Murray's strength you can hold them off that long. I'm behind you Bentley."

"Thanks, thanks," Bentley tittered nervously, "We could use support. And don't worry about us, we'll do our best. We must capture those pages and if possible, put the storm machine out of action before things get to difficult. If only they could see it, in a way we are helping the law by only robbing these villains."

"Yes, I agree," said Sly, "But you know how black and white Carmelita can be on the subject. Anyway, that is not my main point of discussion. I am calling mainly to talk about more security I have come up against. Some nasty looking water wheels, another walrus guard security lights and possibly lasers as well as a final gate. Will it ever end?"

"As for that then," said Bentley, "With your prowess, it should be relatively simple. Your thieving skills should easily allow you to get by as last time. Also remember those clue bottles. I am sure they now contain clues that might lead to pages of the Thievious Raccoonus, which from you could learn even more skills. That would be very valuable against the five, for the skills are unique."

"Yes they are," agreed Sly, "And I will be honoured to finally learn them. But for know I must rely on my own prowess. And by the way Bentley, I have just discovered a new skill I possessed."

"Really?" asked Bentley curiously, "What would that be? I was only aware of the phenomenon with the blue sparks."

"Yes, so was I," said Sly, "But I was delighted by the fact I could find it for myself. I found that using the cane I could swing past and over gaps, even more nimble than usual. I used that technique just now to avoid another security gate."

"Most intriguing," said Bentley, "I am genuinely interested at that fact. I suppose that was a step of your path that your father liked you to discover-not to be told. You should use that potential Sly. It sounds like it could be very handy."

"So I thought," said Sly, "It was extremely useful and easier. I might be able to use it here. You are right Bentley-this is no different and should be a snap. Thanks pal - could you perhaps put Murray on for a quick word?"

"Certainly," Bentley said and his image blurred and disappeared. A series of cracklings and whirring noises issued forth for a handful of seconds. Then Murray's face appeared, pink and porky, but lined with concern.

"Cheers Sly," guffawed Murray, giving out a nervous laugh. "How goes the rat race?"

"Fine, fine," said Sly as he giggled to himself. "As I said to Bentley, only the usual minor obstacles and I am also watching out for any potential loot. Also I have had to come up against the occasional guard or two. But it's all right really."

"Splendid," said Murray, "I have been dying her in the van; I long to punch a few skulls. By Bentley's leave we can only operate surveillance work and keep your back on the field. We won't leave this spot until you need us." He punctuated the final sentence with a tone of defiance and determination.

"I knew how you feel pal," said Sly, "But remember Bentley is just looking out for all of us. Perhaps later on you will get your chance. After all I would find it far more difficult to get by without your invaluable backup."

"Nice of you to say so," said Murray, "I appreciate your words. Pardon me a moment. Sorry Bentley, what did you say?" His voice trailed away and for a moment or two all Sly could here was mumblings and a few grunting sounds from Murray. Staring expectantly at Murray's behind poking into the screen, Sly waited, humming tunelessly to himself. At last Murray straightened up and turned back to face him.

"Just before I go," said Murray, "Bentley has asked me to give you a quick briefing."

"Sure thing - shoot," Sly replied.

"Okay," grunted Murray. "Bentley has told me that he has devised a method to make this mission quicker and easier to cope with. Using remote control helicopters placed about the island he can project luminescent flares, green normally, on places you should hit. From his scanning he has deduced they contain valuables or other useful items. These hot spots may also lead you to the inner workings of Raleigh's machine. With this information we hope to cut the energy travelling to the storm machine, thus thwarting the constant storms in the Welsh triangle and returning the seas to their original state. That is the plan in a nutshell."

"Good," said Sly, "Thanks again Murray and tell Bentley thanks too. I'll file that away. Good luck with your surveillance."

"Goodbye then Sly," said Murray sadly, "And remember to watch for the green flares. And one more thing - get back safely, Sly." Murray gave him a small wave and sniffed.

"Don't trouble your conscience," assured Sly, "I am endeavouring to do just that. I will we back before you know it. Thanks for the concern."

"Okay then," muttered Murray, "Signing out Sly." He let a watery smile lighten his good natured face before the channel dimmed and faded out.

Sly turned off his own channel reception and brought the device down from his eyes. Again he placed it in the back pack and tightened the latch. Ensuring everything was secure and the damaged strap tightened, he breathed in deeply and started to make for the final stretch of the path ahead.

Sly thought to himself as he moved along the extent of the path. He was sure his friends would be able to cope. Murray's strength was more than a match for most opponents and Bentley nursed a secret talent. He only ever mentioned it to Sly. Somehow he didn't think Murray would take it the same way, which relied on brute strength. Bentley was a master fencer and swordsmen. While they had gone to school in Paris, funded by the orphanage, they had each taken the same classes but Bentley had had a special liking he had kept to himself.

He had always appreciated the blade and how it departed from modern combat obsessed with guns and explosives, despite his liking of gadget like weaponry. He had taken fencing lessons and become a school champion. Another unusual thing about him was that he had used his left hand. The school had never before had a left hander student master the blade the way Bentley had. Sly knew he was secretly proud of it.

Then there was Murray. Strength and muscle rolled into his powerhouse of a body. Never really interested in the classes on English, Mathematics and other subjects-even though the school had been where they all learned English for they could all speak fluent French as well-Murray had focused on his talents in boxing and wrestling. All though rotund and slightly plump, Murray was also a formidable opponent. He could down just about any enemy with his tremendous strength. He was also a loyal friend to the end. He would easily pull through along with Bentley.

Sly knew that Murray was also driven on by his past like both of his friends. It had not been just a car crash that had killed his parents but another malicious attack. Like Murray himself, his parents had always been expert racers on the track and traversed the world far and wide, a famous driving duo, making millions and becoming famous. Driving more and more expensive and elite vehicles they had won more and more titles, constantly beating their opponents. But one day that had had a dire consequence.

On their way to a grand final held as part of the world famous Grand Prix car race, they had been intercepted. They never even got to the race. Murray had been in the back seat of the car at the time, and that was probably what saved him. His father and mother had both been in the front seats. One moment they had been driving along pleasantly and the next they had been rammed from the left flank. Another vehicle probably organised as sabotage by a rival racing team had swerved out of the lane and smashed into their vehicle. Murray had never seen who had driven the vehicle or what the team had been.

The vehicle disappeared into the traffic as soon as it had appeared. But the damage was done. The engine severely damaged and leaking, with steam hissing from under the bonnet, the car had skidded across the lanes and crashed heavily into the side of the road. His father had been unable to control the perilous trajectory and had been instantly knocked cold, along with his mother, by the shock. Murray lay whimpering in the back seat as the van finally teetered and feel onto its side. Rolling out of the smashed windows Murray had attempted to run back to his parents but it was too late. Clear of the wreckage, the vehicle had exploded in an enormous fire ball. Remains erupted into the air, completely obliterating it - and everything within. A bomb placed inside; an act of vengeance by another unknown assailant.

Either way, Murray had been tragically orphaned and somehow wound up in the orphanage in Paris. He only ever had a single battered suitcase and one of his parents' racing vans, left to him in his will. That was the van Murray had eventually transformed into the Cooper team van, in homage to his parents. Murray had subsequently tried to regain his parent's fame on the race track, but it had never been the same. Sly knew the blow had hit him very hard. He also knew that it would never quite leave him and there would always be some pain. It was a sad truth.

Sly gave another melancholy sigh and attempted to pull himself together; as Bentley would say - no use crying over spilt milk. It was sad, but that was the way it had been made. After all, if those events had never occurred, the three of them would never have met or be here now. Sly would never have met Carmelita. He probably would have ended up as a mere orphan boy and never even come close to reassembling his family's ancient book. Sometimes sad events turned out for the better at the very end. Maybe this was one of those times. Either way, Sly knew he should appreciate the happenings that had followed and where he was now.

Really, after the orphanage, things had been relatively good. They had made the best out of what had been previously shattered lives. Maybe even Carmelita had somehow been drawn into it all. Together they all seemed to be part of a greater journey. The more Sly thought about it, the more he thought he never knew about her. Maybe someday in the future he would penetrate that mystery. He had partially lied to himself that he did not desire to share in the life of the inspector. Hopefully he thought that somewhere not far away, their paths were intertwined. With hopeful spring in his step, he sped up, soon reaching the compound.

Teetering at the edge of the moat which was choked by the water wheels, Sly glanced across the way to fully assess the situation. It was rather tricky. The tight security posed a significant danger, which meant he would have to navigate each hazard individually.

Not only that, he would have to destroy the alarm system as well so as not to alert the whole island. His last slip up in the first compound had nearly cost him and for all he knew, Raleigh knew he was here, plotting every move against him. He had to take the next step, the last step before penetrating the heart of the operation, very carefully. He would not allow the fiends to better his family a second time! He had also noted a final factor.

Several of the clue bottles Bentley had shown him littered the lawn and, behind the gate, beyond a second trench, lay a final compound. Three more churning water wheels guarded a small ledge of rock which jutted out into the pool. The crevice towards the lake shore yawned behind it. A copper frame sat in the centre of the small ledge and suspended within it, in a glowing laser field, was a single key. It was one treasure key Bentley had mentioned; but how to retrieve it?

**This is Chapter 7 - Chapter 4 of 13 in Part 2.  
****I took some creative liberty and added some plot points - like introducing Barkley and revealing that Bentley can fence, left-handed.  
****This may seem absurd but I thought it would be fun to make Bentley more able in combat, like Sly and Murray:  
This will be used at least twice later on in the story.  
****Look out for Chapter 12 in about a week (it was pre-written). As always, I hope you liked reading my story!**


	9. Chapter 8 - Running the Gauntlet

**Chapter Eight: Running the Gauntlet.**

**Note: This chapter is at least two-thousand words longer than previous additions. All chapters will now be as long or longer.**

Murray shifted his plump physique restlessly over the faded leather interior of the van. There really hadn't been that much to do over the course of the last hour. From the last radio communication Sly had sent in with his Binoc-u-com, Murray had gathered that they may not be needed at all in the field. And at any moment Interpol might be on top of them. It was a fine balance they had to keep. To make sure they could hold off Carmelita long enough for Sly to retrieve the pages they had come for. A little bored of relieving all this in his mind over and over again, Murray turned back to the monitor screen, which Bentley was keeping an eye on while folding and throwing paper planes over his desk. Every now and then one of his eyes would casually flitter towards it. Deciding on a closer examination, Murray rolled his chair over to the control panel and again twirled the focusing dial.

The helicopter camera image blared up and again revealed all the vehicles. Murray could see Carmelita standing by one of the vans. She appeared to be talking to an officer, clad in a navy blue uniform and cap. He looked like a Labrador. Murray could also see that more trucks had squeezed their way onto the peninsula. Reinforcements he supposed. From the officers who were running around the vehicles, opening doors and removing equipment, it appeared as if a search party was being organised. All this was only a kilometre away from them. Giving a sudden jump of realisation, Murray quickly waved Bentley over to take a look. The pair eyed the screen, now very much alert.

#

Higgins stared warily towards the treacherous isle that extended into the churning froth of the Welsh sea. The promontory on which he now stood wound its way towards a tremendous canyon in the rocks, where the charred sections of an enormous metal gate rested. It appeared as if someone had already forced entry onto the island. And Higgins knew just who it was - Sly Cooper. His gang were probably already somewhere within the heart of the island, one step ahead of his team. But they would be close behind.

The promontory extending out from the barren coast line was the only way in or out; Cooper could not escape. Anyway, the whole isle only extended to a width of two kilometres and a length of about five. There was virtually nowhere to hide. The squad of officers could cover the place in a matter of hours. Once his team was organised, he would lead the boys on a raid into the hideout and flush out the criminal mastermind. He was determined to make good of himself on his first, large-scale field job. Besides, the sooner they could leave the dreaded chunk of rock, the better.

Higgins was so lost in his contemplation that he was startled into conniptions when he felt a tap on his shoulder. Whirling round on the spot he turned to see Inspector Fox standing expectantly behind him. Blushing red in the face and feeling butterflies in his stomach, Higgins yanked hard on his collar and coughed. A slightly amused smile twisted Carmelita's pretty face and Higgins's heart went out to her at once, the sound of love ringing in his ears. However, he quickly pulled himself together.

"Oh please excuse me Inspector," Higgins rasped apologetically, "I was dosing off and I was just startled. Sorry to surprise you. My team and I are ready to go. It was easy taking all our supplies from London by road to this point. We now have prepared all the necessary equipment. I was determined to assist you in this latest endeavour." Another wave of warmth swept over him as he finished and his cheeks blushed red again.

"Oh please don't apologise Higgins," said Carmelita, "I did rather surprise you. Oh, and do please excuse me if I made you feel awkward in any way." She glanced rather pointedly at him and let out a girlish giggle. This made Higgins blush even more.

"No, no, not at all," said Higgins, "I'm not feeling awkward; it's just that it is so humid around here. Anyway, I am anxious to get along with the mi-mission." Stumbling over his words, Higgins last sentence escaped in a sort of stutter. Then as if to explain his behaviour he quickly fanned his moustache with a handkerchief.

"Of course, of course," Carmelita replied knowingly, "I understand completely. And I appreciate your assertiveness in assisting me. I shall see to it that Inspector Barkley gives you recognition for this."

"Oh – really," Higgins mumbled the word in what he thought was a bumbling, stupid way. "Very kind of you I'm sure - but it really isn't necessary. I'm just glad to be out on the field and helping you trail Cooper." Fearing that Carmelita would detect his covert comments, Higgins's voice began to rise to a higher and higher pitch until it was almost unheard. He sweated a little and grinned sheepishly.

"You're too kind Higgins," said Carmelita, "I really am rather touched by your loyalty. I am sure together we can lead this to be a successful mission. Inspector Barkley shall not be disappointed."

"Indeed, he shall not," Higgins said shrilly, bringing his fist down in conviction. "This mission shall be successful. I'll go and get the boys ready to go shall I?"

"Yes," said Carmelita, "We shall get started immediately. Form our search party Higgins and get our men together. I would like a group together in the next half hour. Let's get going." She gave a form of salute to Higgins and whisked the cap she wore off her head. Tossing it onto the seat of the nearest van, she slipped her shock pistol from its holster and gave it a quick once over before slotting it back in. Satisfied with it, she made to join the convoy of officers but turned at the last minute.

"Any last minute enquires?" Higgins queried, "I think we should push on now. This weather seems to be getting worse and worse. It isn't natural. Someone is out to stop us. I bought all this equipment along so our mission can succeed. It must not fail for the good of thousands of people. The final arrest of Cooper could rest on its success." He spoke beseechingly, but rather hopefully because he did want to spend more time talking to Carmelita. Even though he liked spending time with her, he never called her by name - he was too embarrassed.

"No Higgins," said Carmelita, "I do not have anything to enquire, but thank you again for your attentiveness. It is the kind of attitude we need here. I just merely had a question I would like to ask you before we head into the fray. I expect the next couple of hours shall be rather difficult and Sir Raleigh will be the one out to stop us."

"Oh," Higgins murmured in surprise, "What would that be?"

"Just a silly question really," she said," I just wanted ask whether you have ever had any feelings for anyone in Interpol, say perhaps me?" Her demeanour was businesslike but she had a loving curiosity in her eyes. Higgins's blood ran cold. Could she possibly know about his feelings towards her?

"Yes, I mean no, not at all," Higgins stuttered desperately, "I have never had, ah, feelings. I assure you I have only feelings to you and any others as partners or comrades. I have never had any feelings of affection." He breathed a slight sigh of relief as she seemed to believe his words. Maybe he was safe.

"I thought so Higgins," said Carmelita, "I was just curious. Please excuse me if I have embarrassed or abashed you. And you are right; time for the expedition to begin." She gave him a glowing smile and he melted instantly.

Even though she gave out a sweet feeling Higgins sensed that she had a polite curiosity and didn't perhaps quite believe him. Not in a sceptical, but rather affectionate way. Could it be? Could she possibly have any feelings for him to? But no, he was sure the Inspector gave most of her feeling towards Cooper. There was more going on there than she thought he knew. He decided not to get his hopes up-the world wasn't that kind of place. He gave a resigned sigh and made to reply.

"Thankyou Madame," Higgins said, "Yes, I would be delighted to begin. Let's go and get the boys and get going. I shall be with you all the way!"

"Thank you as well Higgins," said Carmelita, "I would also be delighted to begin. It shall be an enriching experience working with you. I am looking forward to it. We shall go and get the team." She waved him over to join her and together they walked to the head of the group. Strolling at her side, Higgins felt himself practically floating on air and unable to take his eyes off of her. This would indeed be an enriching first mission. He barely noticed the other officers congregating behind them in rows before they set off and began to march off the promontory and through the gate.

About a minute later, Higgins had finally managed to tear his eyes away from Carmelita and turn to the path ahead. The walls of stone rose like towering pillars and cast shadows over the party. Sand and wet grass coated the driveway and thick mud, congealed under their feet, yielded tire tracks that wound away ahead of them. Clearly Cooper had gone this way. Thunder broke in the skies above them and the rain pounded down harder than ever. Luckily the officers he had handpicked were tough and persistent-they would be prepared to slog their way through any obstacle. Be foot it looked as if they had a hard march ahead of them. Higgins bowed his head against the wind and rain and fought onwards, Carmelita doing the same at his side.

As Higgins marched, his mind wandered and he found himself recalling memories from his past. With the non-descript howling of the wind and rain around him, he let his mind take over. A vision opened up and blossomed in his mind. He was a child, living in a posh London home with his two parents. Higgins had grown up and spent most of his childhood in England. His parents had worked for the royal police force at Scotland Yard and were almost always on duty-they had been well respected. When he had been born they had been absolutely delighted, loving him the moment they saw him.

His father had been doubly proud that he might someday join his profession and nobly serve queen and country. He had had a proper English name. His full name was actually Winston Nicholas Higgins, but everyone at Interpol called him just plain Higgins. He preferred to remain more anonymous under his last name, even though Higgins didn't sound French. But he had changed his first name to become Gustav. He had thought it appropriate when he had moved to France, learnt the language off be heart and joined Interpol. He had dearly wanted to fulfil his father's only wish of him.

When Higgins had only been at the tender age of thirteen, his parents had been out on another big assignment. There had been a big robbery at the bank of London and his parents had been some of the first on the scene, quickly rushing to assist Scotland Yard. They had arrived to find the faced completely blown open and destroyed, papers falling everywhere. The glass lay in glittering shards and the door was shredded and hanging off its hinges. The interior had been violently ransacked and every single teller or banker was tied up and gagged. On further investigation, the vault had been blown open and several sacks of pound notes and coins had disappeared. More shreds of paper fluttered in the air. But there had been no sign of the mysterious assailant.

Higgins had been home at the time, listening to the radio report by the news channel with baited breath. Apparently there was no trace of the thief at all. But as they turned away from the vault, a great hulking brute with enormous pistols descended upon them and knocked them to the ground. At the same time, two more hulking figures and a smaller weedy one, burst from underneath the sacks in the vault and thundered past them, knocking the officers down and piling into a van that had pulled up in the street. Before anything could be done, they had disappeared, the van screeching around a corner and disappearing past the patrols. Two weeks later it was found abandoned on the M1 motorway. Ten years later Higgins had realised they were the Fiendish Five.

His parents were trapped beneath some of the wreckage after the flight of the criminals. The brute with the pistols had mown down several desks and one of the other hulking figures had launched a missile like explosive into a wall, causing an explosion which rocked the building and rained plaster, wooden beams and debris on top of them and the rest of the officers. Trapped beneath the rubble, his parents had been powerless to escape when the final fiend revealed himself: a shadowy silhouette moving as fast as lightening. He swept across the room, with what seemed like enormous wings and several sacks clutched beneath it and soared for the exit. His father had just managed to free his upper body and swung his pistol around to fire.

But the bullets had just reflected off the shadow and ricocheted around the room. Then as if irritated, the shadow had swooped around and, dropping the sacks, flown straight for his father.

It was needless and violent as well as heartless-his father or his mother needn't have died - just because they were there. Standing unafraid and uttering last words of defiance, his father had been cut down by a single talon like claw. He fell like a rag doll and lay cold upon the floor. His mother had fallen the same way. Then the shadow had disappeared, soaring away, not to be seen again for many years. That villain was now known to Higgins as Clockwerk. The name stood for malevolence. He had cut down innocent people just for defying him. Higgins shivered in anger and thought how unjust it was that villains like that continued to thrive. If he could help it, that would not remain so.

Devastated, Higgins had been sent to live with his aunt in southern England, not far from where he now stood. Only his most prized possessions went with him. Despite the bleak conditions he had still endeavoured to fulfil his parent's wish. Deciding to strip himself of the sad memorise he had immigrated to France and joined Interpol, one of the most famous law organisations in the world. There he had made a small name for himself and had received a promotion from Inspector Barkley. He had continued from the age of eighteen to represent what he considered well and just in the world. He wished to represent light and hope. The violent passing of his parents was what had been his motive for the job he now fulfilled.

He, suspecting like Carmelita, had used the events of his past to motivate himself and further his skills. It also made him feel better about himself and the world, something good in an otherwise bleary existence. That was why he treasured the company of Carmelita so much. It was one of the few things he could enjoy. He also suspected that Cooper had such hidden motives and together, all three of them were on a path to a better life. They all strived to do well in the world against injustice. But could it all turn out well and without consequence? Something dark loomed on the horizon and he felt it. He just hoped it would turn out happily. With that he returned to his concentration and returned his eyes on the march ahead. The rest of the convoy marched onwards into the night.

#

Nearly on the other side of the island, Sly Cooper stood thinking to himself. Only moments ago he had been lamenting on the loss and terrible pain of the shattering of his entire family. He could only imagine how many other victims there must be to the sinister wrath of Clockwerk. But his family had been hit the hardest. They had not only been killed, but completely wiped out. The malevolence of the villain had somehow driven him to shatter what mattered most to Sly and destroy his old life. And all just for still unknown and probably selfish motives, such hate must have fuelled those decisions. And all the others, all the other victims who he had maimed and destroyed: all for the good of what?

Sly knew in what he was about to do next was not just for his own benefit, not even just for Bentley and Murray, but for all the victims of Clockwerk and indeed the whole world. He intended to avenge everyone who had ever been touched by the malicious creature or anyone attached to his purposes. He would liberate everyone ever put under the shadow and make sure it never returned. He was now that avenger and he intended to fulfil his purpose. For everything true and just. He set his gaze on the path before him.

The walrus standing right at the centre of the field seemed absolutely unconcerned. Apparently supremely confident that the lights and other security would keep intruders out, he was not even bothering to keep his throwing stares handy. Instead, leaving them at his waist, he just stared in a bored kind of way back along the path on which Sly had come. Judging from the slightly puffy and red appearance of his eyes, he was rather bored and tired and had probably not noticed Sly during his approach. Unlike his comrade back in the first compound he needn't be so alert, as he would not be the first line of defence. But he was still perfectly positioned to create a perfect hazard. He was still keen and tough looking after all. Sly thought he would try and take him out before he tried any attempt on the alarm which might prove a failure. He judged the walrus to be about thirty metres away from him. Soon he too would be out for the count. Well here comes the crunch thought Sly.

He raised himself onto his toes and spun forwards, balancing neatly on the edge of the moat. His feet just centimetres away from the first waterwheel, he launched his body into the air. He came down softly on the wooden surface of the wheel and, jogging slowly to keep pace with the churning rhythm, he back flipped a second time and landed cat-like on the next one-so far, so good. For his next jump he simply did a kind of skipping hop and came down on a single foot. Unfortunately the cedar wood, unexpectedly slippery and rusted from dipping into the ocean waters, proved to damp to make much friction and he found his whole body twisting backwards before he lost his footing all together and tumbled head-over-heels towards the churning swell.

Luckily he swung the cane about and hooked an iron spike sprouting from the edge of one wheel and thanks to his physical dexterity; he turned right way up and clung to the wet surface. But as the wheel began to sink into the water he shot upwards, unhooking the cane, and slid onto the fourth wheel, narrowly escaping being crushed under the weight of the wheel. Finally he hooked his cane into the wood of the fifth wheel and, yanking forwards, he shot across the surface like a bullet from a gun and jumped lightly up to step purposely onto the shingle on the other side. One obstacle down, three to go.

Hovering on the brink of the compound, Sly suddenly turned and with a kind of cartwheel, he rolled behind one of the large bulks of copper piping that lay to his left, resting at the foot of one of the sixth light towers. Now safely concealed from the gaze of his nemeses, who apparently still had noticed nothing; Sly took in the angles of the situation. Like the first series of lights, these lights arched around in patterns which allowed the occasional gap, small enough for him to slip through. With the same ease of his thieving skills, and without tripping up this time-much to his embarrassment-he could pounce upon the alarm box and fuse it with another good whack. The gate would have opened and it would have been simple as that. But there were still the bottles stashed in the corners of the field to think about. And the walrus put a big blot on his plan. He decided again to take him out first.

Readying his limbs and flexing his muscles, Sly coiled his lean body to make another jump. Only his bushy tail swishing behind him gave any idea that he was not a statue. Making sure he still retained a tight grasp on the shaft of the Cooper cane, he shot forwards and literally flew into the path of the first spot light. He had timed his move so that he would land on a blank patch of lawn while another light would conceal him from the walrus. The momentary flash would temporarily distract him. Then the light from which he had jumped swung around and sliced through the patch of field, but he was already away, propelling himself into another patch.

This time he came down rather harder and he pushed himself up from the ground, brushing grime from his tunic. He just had enough time to observe a clue bottle, emblazoned with the question mark, lying innocently on the grass before he ducked from the path of another light and snatched it up. Tucking the bottle into his belt he readied himself again for the jump which would launch him straight at the walrus as he had planned. Take him out by surprise before he even noticed. He jumped.

But to his surprise the walrus's shaved head suddenly shot round almost ninety degrees and froze Sly in his gaze. Deciding not to waste time explaining, Sly let himself plummet towards the face of the guard, letting his cane lead him forwards. But the walrus was more on the ball than he thought and he used a vicious upper-cut of his right arm to parry the blow and send Sly falling to the dirt. For the fourth time that night a hideous face leered down at Sly. But he had had enough of being tossed about like a rag doll and sprang up instantly for another attempt only to be met with a punch to the face from an enormous fist.  
Feeling his nose give a sickening crunch, Sly toppled backwards and into the path of a spotlight. The walrus must have seen him all along.

He had decided to lull him into a false sense of security; payback time. Clutching his bruised but unbroken nose Sly felt warm blood trickle between his fingers but couldn't worry about it too much for suddenly the alarm box let out the blaring call of warning. The siren echoed around the compound and about two kilometres away, Sergeant Higgins and Carmelita heard the ringing noise. Dismissing the sound they marched on. But Sly couldn't do the same as the light surrounding him had just turned red and a swarm of lasers were surging towards him from the roofs of the towers. Relinquishing his crushed nose, Sly leapt out of the light again as a laser narrowly missed singeing his tail.

Blinking back the speckles of blood that had splattered his visage, Sly threw his whole body weight upon the walrus, this time with far more force. But again the brute parried the blow and tossed Sly over his shoulder. Feeling nausea somewhat set in, Sly felt himself soar like a pinwheel through the air, cutting into several spotlights and finally landing with a horrible thud at the opposite end of the compound. At least now he was beyond on the lights and the lasers which he had just avoided. But he still had a problem. A storm of red rays and lasers surged along the lawn and through them burst the walrus, triumph in his piggy eyes. Oh not again groaned Sly in his mind, and he flung his cane forwards, making for a third blow.

This time, sailing through the air, the walrus was unable to parry the attack and he launched himself right into the way of the cane. As an idea sprung into Sly's mind he saw the walrus desperately scrabble for his throwing discs. But before he could reach them Sly hooked the cane around his collar and tossed him around in turn, sending his body crashing down upon the alarm box. Throwing stars flew every which way as the weight of the walrus completely flattened the alarm, immediately silencing it. Then with a feeble spark of electricity, the circuits shorted out and the lights shimmered and disappeared. The lasers immediately stopped tracking their way across the lawn and fizzled out.

The compound fell silent as before and there was no movement except for Sly's swishing tail. The only other living thing nearby was the unconscious walrus who lay atop the flattened alarm. He groaned and lolled back. It hadn't been quite the entry either of them expected.

Sly grinned as he heard the now familiar click of the gate swinging open once again. He glanced behind him and noticed that the way now lay clear to the small ledge of rock sitting above the lake and by the crevice. The burnished gate had come to rest against a large block of what looked like iron beside the gate. Only a small grassy lip was left for him to step onto before the water wheels. The key now sat also in plain sight. He could investigate those later. He still had a task to do. He turned back towards the larger compound.

Without the lights and lasers to conceal them, every single clue bottle in sight could be clearly seen. Most were just scattered about the lawn while others had been lodged into crevices within piping or balanced on the tower balconies. Sly judged there to be about twenty-nine of them all together. Plainly Raleigh had meant to make the task of collecting them far more rigorous. Now he could just run around, collecting them at his leisure. Deciding he may as well get on with it, Sly sprinted back across the far end of the lawn and snatched up a clue bottle that had been resting within a clump of laurel bushes. Then he ran about collecting more bottles that rested in places like cracks under the piping, patches of grass on the lawn or behind rocks and boulders.

Soon he had about twenty-three bottles and his belt was bulging with the strain of holding so many articles. And there were still some to collect in the towers. Running back to the gate Sly dumped his load of clues in a pile by the iron block and looked curiously around for a way up to the towers. A glint of blue caught his eyes and he turned to see a frayed rope trailing up the side of a limestone pillar. The sparkling blue trail of light ran along the rope until it met the balcony above. His instincts had not let him down again. He seized the rope in his blue gloves and shot up it, using the palms of his hands to push himself onto the wooden balcony above.

As soon as his eyes rose to the level of the wood he saw a clue bottle sitting right in front of his nose. The golden question mark was so close to his eyes that it made him feel quite giddy. He grabbed the bottle and tossed it down to the grass, where it landed with a soft flump by the other pile of bottles. Twisting his head round to pear along the sides of the lantern, Sly could see that no other bottles rested there. But he could see a single bottle resting on the balconies ringing the other towers. And as he had observed earlier, more ropes were slung between the towers to allow him passage. They also boosted the blue sparks. Using his cane, Sly worked his way onto the roof of the beacon light and tugged his body upright. He could see from quite a distance all around him.

The lagoon like lake stretched for several hundred metres away and more ridges of rock, some adorned with moss and tumbling waterfalls, erupted from the landscape. He could even glimpse the occasional twisted mast or torn hull of a sailing ship. Then away in the distance he could see faint lights flickering from just beyond the promontory. He supposed that was Carmelita and Interpol on their way here. He quickly sped up and turned his mind back to the job.  
Over the next few minutes Sly had gathered the five remaining bottles and tossed them into a heap by the iron block beyond the gate. Each bottle contained a delicate twist of parchment tied with velvet ribbon. It was a rather unusual way to record information but he supposed Raleigh had a taste for Victorian grandeur. He leapt down from the final tower and sprinted back across the lawn, accidentally crushing a few seaside daisies under his feet and just dodging round the dozing figure of the walrus. He gently raised a single bottle from the pile to his eyes and stared through its opaque surface.

But the green glass was too embossed in a glaze to thick to see any of the writing. So he grasped the chunk of cork choking the neck of the bottle and pulled it forth with a pop. The cork shot through his fingers and landed with a plop in a nearby puddle. Ignoring the cork, Sly tipped the bottles upside down and the parchment slid into his hand. But he could hardly make head or tail of it. It was covered in what appeared to be some kind of complicated lettered and numbered code inscription algorithm. All the bottles he opened were the same. Time again to get out the good old Binoc-u-com and ask Bentley's advice thought Sly.

Sly was just about to activate the Binoc-u-com when he noticed a shimmer of silver reflect off of the iron block. This intrigued him and he decided to go for a closer inspection. Placing the device on top of the slab he lent down and examined the surface. The box was about a metre in length as well as height. It had a width of about fifty centimetres and it tapered from an inverted triangular base at the bottom to a rectangular shape at the top. All sides of the box where secured with thick metal screws and bolts. The object looked somewhat familiar. Then he noticed that a smaller iron slat seemed to be fixed to the face with screws. That didn't seem right. The slat revealed a thin seam all around its edge, from which the glimmer had appeared.

Sly placed his cane down upon the grass and, fixing his blue gloved fingers into the seam, he gave it a reasonably hard tug. The iron gave a small clank and with another clicking sound it slid off the block and into Sly's hands. Surprised, Sly staggered backwards and fell onto the grass. The bump reminded him painfully of his damaged nose and he tossed the slat aside to see what he had uncovered. He should have known it. He had seen something exactly like it back at Interpol headquarters and it had been mentioned in Bentley's briefing of the bottles. Concealed at the end of the compound was a combination vault.  
Ecstatic at his discovery, Sly swiped the Binoc-u-com off of the vault and ran back to the pile of bottles.

He grabbed handfuls of parchment scrolls until he had them all and staggered back to the vault with his arms full. Again he dumped his load down by the door of the vault and rifled through them. Now he looked closer at them he could see that they appeared to detail an ordered, but complicated numeric code. It had to be the combination to the vault and he was sure Raleigh had stashed pages of the Thievious Raccoonus insides it. Barely able to contain him, Sly fumbled for the radio dial and the screens flickered on. But as he saw Bentley's face shimmer onto the lenses, he dropped the device from his trembling hands and into the grass. As he heard Bentley's voice squawk alarmingly from the strange angle, Sly snatched it up and pressed it to his eyes. This device is a thief's best friend thought Sly.

"Mercy me," bellowed Bentley, "What happened to your nose? And what's with all that blood? Now you said that we wouldn't have any trouble. And I've got news; Interpol are only about three-hundred metres out from our position. It could be quite a fight so you'd better hurry it along. I don't know how often I'll be able to communicate with you now."

"Bang on the nose," said Murray from somewhere behind Bentley.

"Oh, my nose," Sly said sheepishly, "Well it's not actually that bad. It was just a little slip up in the plans-that's all. It turns out one of the walrus guards here was a little more alert than I thought. But apart from that, it was pretty smooth." Bentley tut-tutted disapprovingly but relented when Sly used a cloth from his satchel to wipe away the blood.

"See-not that bad," said Sly. "After all, it wasn't actually broken. Just a little bruised and battered. But at least all the blood is gone. I'm perfectly fine now."  
"Okay, I admit I might have over reacted," said Bentley attentively, "But I think I might still have a look at it later to make sure. I want to make sure you stay in good shape. The way you're going you'll be bent completely out of shape-literally."

"Don't stress so much Bentley," said Sly, "All these things are just trophies for a thief like me. Anyway, shouldn't we talk about the main point of my calling?"

"Oh yes," said Bentley, "I suppose we should. After all this could be my last communication with you for a while. I can hear them coming now."

"Right then," said Sly, "I have discovered a whole stash of those clue bottles you mentioned, about thirty in total and I believe they do make a combination to a vault like you said. I have also found a vault the combination might belong to. Raleigh has hidden it away in a nook just beyond another gate. If there are anymore, I reckon them to all be like this. The only hitch is that I can't decipher the strange codes in the bottles-that's more your department."

"Bang on the nose as Murray would say," said Bentley, "Now, could you scan those codes into the data banks of your Binoc-u-com and then I can decipher them on my computer. With luck all of Raleigh's bottle codes will be the same and we shan't have to do this every time. As for opening the vault, I believe you're already very good at that."

"Perfectly right," grunted Murray again from somewhere in the van.

"Yes pal, you're right," said Sly, "I'm scanning the codes in now."

Sly had a slight grin on his face as he held each slip of paper in turn up to the lenses and a brief flash of white scanned them in. Finally he did the same for the thirtieth scroll and all the codes were contained within the data bank. Multiple clicking sounds and beeps were heard as the codes scrolled over Bentley's screen back in the van. With his friend's finesse, the codes would stand no chance. The codes transmitted back to the Binoc-u-com would also be handy for cracking any codes later on. Maybe even the whole Fiendish Five used the same system.

"Interesting, very interesting," Bentley mused as Sly looked back through the Binoc-u-com. "An unusual system of codes here. It would seem that Raleigh has chosen to use a system where there are multiple layers of numbers standing in for letters which are in turn translated from different languages. One must translate from numbers to at least three different languages before the code can be broken into English. Clearly Raleigh has been careful not to use French as he would know from Clockwerk that we can speak that too."

"Sounds very complicated pal," remarked Sly, "But I'm sure you can crack it. We must get those pages. Whatever is in that vault is probably valuable anyway."

"It is complicated," said Bentley, "But I can crack it for you quite easily. I should have the code ready in a few more seconds. I am not surprised you found it hard to understand, just a moment." Sly heard a few more sounds of a computer clicking away and a few sighs of understanding and comprehension from Bentley. Finally he heard a sound like violin, as if the computer had finally hacked the code and there was a ding. Bentley shimmered into view.

"Here it is," said Bentley waving a piece of paper, "The final code-done and dusted. I have also re-transmitted all the deciphering back to your Binoc-u-com in case you cannot contact me after this call. But we should open that vault now. Are you ready by those tumblers? I'm reading you the code now!"

Sly kneeled down to the height of the vault-it was mounted on a pedestal about eighty centimetres high and Sly was about six feet tall. Placing his left hand on the tumblers, he listened for Bentley's transmission.

"Scroll in the number nine first," said Bentley. Sly scrolled in the number nine.

"Put the number three onto the second dial," Bentley said. Sly spun the dial until it came up with the number three.

"Finally," said Bentley with enthusiasm, "Roll in the number one." Sly placed his hand on the final tumbler and rolled on the numeral one. Instantly the vault gave a hissing click and the door slid forwards slightly, then swung out in an arching fashion and left a gaping opening in the block.

"That was a piece of cake," gushed Bentley happily, "Now, what do we have in that vault Sly?"

"I don't know yet pal," replied Sly, "I still need to check it out. Hold on a tick." Sly reached into the vault and brushed away a few cobwebs. An electric filament must have been wired into the vault for a small, naked bulb gave out a flickering light. The vault was rather shabby, as if it hadn't been attended for a few years - sixteen years in fact.

Sly saw another podium placed in the centre of the velvet lined vault and a plaque rested atop it. But he was not interested in the strands of copper bent into the shape of a stand, but what sat on it. Dropping the Binoc-u-com onto the floor of the vault, he reached out with trembling hands and retrieved the withered pages that sat there. Brushing dust away from it he felt his heart leap and his eyes bulge as he realised what he was holding. Above the faded writing inked onto the page was a single name; Helen Elisa Cooper. Just below that there was another strand of writing which said; Ireland - 1934.

That was the year in which his great aunt Helen had been active. She had also been born in Ireland. Sly only had a faint recollection that his mother had had Irish roots-at least, that's what he thought. He knew she was famous for her dive-rolling technique. Maybe the pages he held now detailed that skill. He wouldn't be surprised if they did-he held three pages in his hands devoted to her entire entry in the book.

"Well?" asked Bentley excitedly, his voice issuing from the vault, "What did you get?"

"We hit the jack-pot," said Sly, "Our first pages from the Thievious Raccoonus! Even better, they detail the directions for learning my Aunt Helen's dive-rolling technique. Now I'm one step closer to becoming a master thief and reviving my family legacy."

"Hoo-hah," yelled Bentley and Murray at the top of their lungs. "Supreme victory, well done Sly - where're on our way there." More excited yells and hoots of ecstasy issued from the vault as Sly picked up the Binoc-u-com and resumed the conversation.

"Well," said Sly, "I had better hit the road now. If Raleigh finds out I have these pages, he's going to crack down. With Interpol on their way, there is pressure on both sides of the schism."

"Sure Sly," said Bentley, sounding somewhat on high, "But before you go, I have more information for you that might be helpful. Oh, and you should learn that move from your aunt. It could be handy."

"I intend to," said Sly, "It will be very handy. And now, what's that information you have for me?" He slipped the pages safely into his back pack and secured the latch-he must not lose them.

"Oh," said Bentley, "Just something which might help sabotage the storm machine."

"Excellent," said Sly, "Fire away then Bentley."

"Right," said Bentley, "I have discovered how Raleigh works the device. It is quite simple bit ingenious really. The entire mechanism is contained within that blimp which is capable of independent travel anywhere on the planet. It is powered by a multitude of wind power, solar power, a self contained geothermal unit and many other methods. In short it is self sustaining and can float anywhere on its own.

"But is does need another power sources outside itself to operate the powerful devices working the storm machine. Those will be contained within Raleigh's hideout and are probably something to do with geothermal power as well. According to my research, this promontory sits directly on an ideal tectonic fissure. Raleigh oversees everything from his own personal quarters in the head of the blimp. That way he is never caught and his operation is completely mobile. We aim to end all that by obliterating the blimp itself and not just the power source."

Sly nodded in an understanding way and waited for the next part of the lecture.

"Finally I believe that the storm machine works on a basic principle of precipitation. Somewhere in the blimp should be contained a large reactor pool if you will, and that pool is full of water kept at a low temperature. When he wishes to 'manufacture' a storm, Raleigh simply needs to warm the pool up slightly so that the resulting steam is absorbed into a ventilation system. The steam is siphoned at high pressure through pipes and turbines before it is jettisoned through a funnel in the roof and pumped into the sky, creating an artificial cloud.

"After that, it is simple. All he needs to do is reverse the temperature of the reactor pool to stop the creation of steam. Then he empties the remaining water in the pool through another piping system where it to is pumped at high speed out through the funnel, right into the cloud. This prompts the artificial cloud to open up and let down an actual torrent of rain. With the deice working at full tilt, Raleigh can create a storm as big or small as he wishes and even make an existing storm worse. The lost water is regained from the rain during the storm and the reactor pool is refilled. The whole system relies on the geothermal power and the reactor pool as far as I can wrangle it."

"What a mind boggler Bentley," said Sly, "Well, thanks for the dossier. I really had better get going. I'm also itching to learn that skill. Keep up the excellent surveillance."

"Sure Sly," said Bentley, "More pages are surely on the way into our hands. Good luck. Ah, wait a moment. What? Arrrgggh, look out Murray." Bentley gave a sudden yell of distress and his com-link fizzled out and powered down.

As Bentley's image disappeared Sly rattled the Binoc-u-com in alarm and sudden concern. What had happened to his friends? But suddenly he remembered Interpol and what Bentley had said about them being so close. Carmelita must have finally picked up the scent. Whatever was happening back at the van, Sly knew that his friends were in safe hands. Anyway, they were capable on their own.

Carmelita was not cruel and Sly knew as he had thought before that she would never kill anyone. Murray and Bentley were in good hands until they escaped or he could rescue them. Anyway, Interpol wouldn't be leaving the island until he and Raleigh were apprehended. Carmelita might have two of the Cooper gang, but she wouldn't leave without the third. Bentley and Murray would remain on the island until he left. It was as simple as that-as long as he could evade Carmelita long enough to steal the other pages.

Anyway, he knew what Bentley would say. Not to worry about them and complete the mission. Stiffening his resolve and promising himself Bentley and Murray would be okay; Sly returned the Binoc-u-com to his pack and leaving the pile of bottles and paper behind, turned towards the glowing key.

Sly came to the edge of the next three waterwheels: he looked carefully around, making sure no security could be concealed anywhere. But he was quite sure the very last leg of the journey was secure. The grassy ledge was only three metres wide and nothing sat upon it apart from the key, the crevice leading to the lake and a few ropes dangling from the towers to the cliffs. The only security was the green laser field surrounding the key. In fact, the stand made of twisted copper strands, crowned with another small effigy of Sir Raleigh, suspended the key in mid air through some kind of magnetism.

Occasionally the sparkling electricity twinged and sparked, but apart from that no other activity occurred. Some kind of wiring trailed away from the circular base of the stand and disappeared into the rock. The dish that contained the key was also lined with what looked like tiny electric nodes, projecting the force field. Whatever they key was for, and it was probably of some use, Sly would need to break the laser shield before he could steal it. In fact Raleigh had probably put it there deliberately to annoy him if it was essential to his passing beyond the point. Time to wipe the smile of his face! Sly would show him. Time for the Cooper legacy to strike back!

#

Sir Eric Winchester Raleigh glared at the television screen. The meddlesome Interpol rats had entered the gate half an hour ago and Cooper was nearly to his boat. Worse still, he had regained pages of the book! Raleigh knew that could not be allowed. But he knew the insolent brat would never be able to get at his treasure keys - they were too well guarded. He cackled satisfactorily to himself. Yes, Cooper or Interpol had no chance of finding him. After all, he had the storm machine at his command. He held the boy in the palm of his hand. If all went according to plan Raleigh would capture Cooper before the night was out and take back the pages. Then he could do away with the meddlesome boy and rid the five of a final threat.

After that he would drive Interpol from his lair. All was going according to plan. He picked up a chocolate coated cherry from a box in a white gloved hand, imported from Belgium, and popped it into his large mouth. As he crunched the delicacy he continued to watch the screen. He remained blissfully unaware of what else was happening on the island.

**Moscow, Russia: 8:32 PM.**

He walked down the snow covered street, keeping the hood low over his face and eyes. Passing a pair of officers on duty he turned away and quickly strode further down the paved granite drive. Wet, melted puddles of snow sloshed beneath his feet as he walked, but he ignored this. The nine-towered structure that was the Cathedral of St. Basil the Blessed loomed over him as he hurried across Red Square. Passing along the banks of the Moscow River he pushed on. He passed a broad-shouldered man, who flicked a still lit cigarette into the canal. He passed a couple sitting by the river, locked in a romantic embrace. But he paid no attention to his surrounds. Finally, he came to his destination.

The hooded figure stood opposite a bakery on the high street. The lights turned green and he ran across the road, the engines of the cars idling like a cat's purr. Having reached the pavement, he stretched out a hand and let himself in through the front door. The jangling and tinkling of a bell was heard as it swung shut behind him. The sign over the door read: Helga's Homemade Pastries and Pies.

Once inside, the hooded man walked up to the counter, placing his hand upon it. Behind an enormous wedding cake topped with liberal lashings of icing, a middle-aged looking woman – an owl with greying hair – looked up at his entrance. She eyed him shiftily and her hand moved under the bench. He was quite certain that she caressed the handle of a pistol. He fingered the handle of his own weapon, a sharp sword that hung beneath his cloak. Suddenly she moved and he found the barrel of the gun right in his face. Also, quick as a flash, he whipped out his blade and pointed it at her throat. She backed against the wall, dropping the pistol. Pressing the point forwards he could see a drop of blood appear at its tip. Her eyes widened with fear and terror. He slid a piece of paper forward on the bench.

"I wish to speak with Boris," he said, in perfect English. "Where is he?"

"Vhot, who are you?" spluttered the woman in Russian, pinned against the wall.

"That it none of your concern," said the hooded figure, "Where is he?" His voice was low and steely, like a snake about to strike.  
"Vhot is this?" she asked, pointing at the piece of paper.

"Read it," he said his voice cold and menacing.

He withdrew the blade and she staggered forwards, scooping up the piece of paper. Her eyes skimmed the document as she massaged her throat. She contemplated it for a moment and then looked up at him. "Very well, he is in the back room. But don't be too long." She left the room and the stranger was alone.

He drew back his hood. He was a weasel with the creamiest-brown fur and a pencil-thin blond moustache. He wore a monocle on one eye; though he did not need it. A thinning mop of mousey-blond hair sat atop his head. His claws were long, sharp and deadly looking. A scruffy brown scarp of a tail stuck out at the back. He wore cream-coloured trousers with a black belt. He had on a buttoned up vest and a cream coloured jacket. He wore a blood-red tie around his collar. A leather scabbard hung at his waist, along with an elegant holster.

He slipped the blade back into the scabbard and walked behind the counter. Reaching down beneath the wooden work surface he pressed a button with his index finger. A rumbling sounded as a shelf on the back wall split in half and slid aside to reveal an open cavity, as a door swung open. He let his cloak fall to the floor and he strode into the room. The entrance then closed again after his entrance.

Inside the room was a wooden staircase leading down. He strode forwards and soon reached a large and cavernous space, its roof supported by many pillars. The space was brightly lit and great banks of electronic equipment were housed within. Workbenches covered with test tubes and beakers sat here and there while men and women scurried between them. They were all dressed in pale-green gowns with scrub caps on their heads. Some of them wore surgical makes as they leaned over benches and poured brightly coloured chemicals intro flaks.

Others were examining and fiddling with the strange electronic devices, reminiscent of something from Jules Verne. But the centre piece was were a great hunk of wires, pipes, cords and chips sat bound together to form one tremendous device. Working by it was an old owl with miniscule glass spectacles. The newcomer strolled over.

"Ah Stringer," called the owl in Russian, "Good to see you."

"Greetings Boris," Stringer said in Russian - then in English he said, "The work proceeds according to plan then?"

"Well, but not quite," replied Boris, "I'm afraid there are some stumbling blocks."

"Speaking of stumbling blocks," Stringer said, "I may have upset your wife just earlier Boris – she didn't recognise who I was and got a little shirty. She's okay but somewhat ruffled after I had to, persuade her." He paused momentarily.

"Helga will be fine Brendan," said Boris, "She never could remember faces. Least of all my associates; I dare say she isn't very fond of you." He gulped, looking awkward.

"Never mind that," said Stringer, "What of the work on the Spear-Head?" He pointed at the enormous device on the workbench.

"We are missing several important pieces," admitted Boris, "And I am unable to find missing portions of Sir Nigel's blueprints - he must have hidden or destroyed them."

"Curse that tortoise," said Stringer – deliberately saying tortoise - in angry Russian, "The last time we met was in Amsterdam, where I was born. That was sixteen years ago. The master will not be pleased." Boris watched Stringer pace back and forth looking troubled.

"Any contact from the master then?" he enquired.

"No, not a single peep," said Stringer.

"Busy with the Cooper gang I suppose," said Boris, "And Nigel's son I should think."

"That snot nosed brat," hissed Stringer, "He is involved with Cooper now? I think that my dear old friend is trying to warn him, help him stop me from reclaiming our, my invention; though he is too late. I have already provided the Five with several pieces, to help exact my plan. The Spear-Head is rightfully mine – Nigel was always too short-sighted."

"But Sir Nigel must be captured," interjected Boris, "Before he compromises our plans."

"I suppose so," said Stringer, "And then I will have his precious son." He leered smugly.

**This is Chapter 5 of 13 in Part 1 of 6.  
****Multiple characters are now playing for high stakes in the Cooper Gang's mission.  
****In what mysterious machination is Brendan Stringer embroiled - what is his connection to Bentley?  
I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and chapter nine will be out in a few weeks. As always, happy reading!**


End file.
